The Fraternity of Strangers
by PassionsInsanity
Summary: No. 4. The aftermath of Abby and Morgan's night seems too casual when the team rushes to Boston; a serial bomber targets schools. Not only their Unsub fires it up, tension between Abby and Morgan rises and Hotch may go too far.
1. Grasping at the shadow

_"Beware lest you lose the substance by grasping at the shadow."_

Aesop

---

Thursday.

23.13

This man, this deep, dark, drop dead gorgeous, deity man, this God, he was good. Oh, he was so good. She was glad that between the first kiss and his tongue slipping into her mouth, she threw away all reason and jumped into the deep. His large hands were everywhere, his long fingers trailing her skin, white-hot metal carving into her skin, smoothly following the flows of her body, discovering and marking his territory. She had stopped caring about right or wrong when he left a moist, sensational line of kisses from her collarbone to her crimson red, hungry lips. Abby didn't live in tomorrow, always in today. In the right now and in the right here. She couldn't care less about tomorrow or Hotch or right or wrong or protocol when his fierce lips once again sought hers. His kisses, his devouring hands, his hot breath in her ear were what was right now and right here. Today.

As her hands ran down his bare back, his skin soft like silk and smooth as water, she wondered when exactly she had taken his shirt off. Suddenly, she found herself sitting on her kitchen island, her legs firmly wrapped around Morgan's waist and wearing nothing but her Snoopy boxers and black bra. Her nails dug into his skin as he cupped her breasts and bit down in her neck. As if Morgan could read her mind, he suavely lifted her from the counter and carried her towards the bedroom, his tongue tangoing with Abby's, their breathing irregular and fast, all wrapped up in lust and desire.

They landed on her bed, the cotton sheets brushing against Abby's almost bare back. Their bodies never once lost contact with each other and she found his lips where they belonged; right on hers, vigorous and ecstatic. Swiftly, she managed to roll him on his back and straddled him, quickly moving down his perfectly formed chest as his hands ripped of her favourite bra, one hand running through her hair, the dark brown locks started to curl even more at the exposure of sweat and the moist air, the other gliding over her back. It took her only seconds to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his jeans.

Somewhere between the discarding of their clothes, they had found a way into a position that was far too familiar to them both. She was back on her back, Morgan on top, but she couldn't be bothered by his dominance. One of her hands lingered teasingly over his back and neck, his skin hot and her fingertips tingling with covet and yearn. The other hung in the air, two or three fingers loosely in contact with his neck. She still had her legs wrapped around his waist, moving along, keeping him close and pulling him in deeper. His right hand had gripped the sheets just above her head; the other was buried underneath Abby's neck and shoulders.

His face was a blur. She couldn't see straight, nor hear properly. All she heard were their distant moans and soft gasps for air. Their mouths would meet occasionally, their tongues intertwining, losing themselves into a game neither of them understood. She had climaxed twice before and she could feel her body again responding to Morgan's insane ability to drive her crazy as she was heading down the cliff once more, before feeling his teeth briefly sink into her lower lip, gasping loudly as they had crashed, and now burnt.

---

Friday. The next day.

06.41

Unbelievably calm and pacified, Abby woke up, the first light of dawn creeping into her bedroom, a beam of sunray casting a chimerical glow over two pairs of feet; one light and one dark, legs partly tangled up together. Her body felt smooth and relaxed, as if she spent her day at a spa. She inhaled deeply and craved for a cigarette as the smell of the morning entered her nostrils. It smelled of sex; sweet, passionate, strangely profuse sweaty sex. Abby smiled secretively when memories of the previous night flooded back into her head. When she turned around, her eyes found his body and for a moment, she stopped moving to observe the man in her bed.

His face was peaceful and serene, eyes still closed, mouth partly open in slumber. His muscles smoothly adapted to his position, round in power and shimmering in strength and sleekness. His bare back was a display of affection and worshipment, screaming for a gentle touch. She resisted the urge to run her fingers up and down the silk-like skin and instead, released herself from the warm sheets' grip. She found her Snoopy boxers in the corner of her room, put them on and snatched her robe from the chair on her way to the kitchen. Whilst traveling through the overlapping part of the living room, she found her smokes and lit one. Abby tried to minimize the noise she made as she made some coffee, but cursed louder than intended when spilling ash on the counter when she was looking for an ashtray.

After her second cup of coffee and fourth cigarette, she heard sounds coming from the bedroom. Abby had by then already gotten dressed into a pair of black jogging pants and a dark green sweater. Suddenly, the thought of meeting Morgan, probably still half naked, in her kitchen, in her house, outside of working hours, caused an unset of rattling nervousness and disconcerted sweat. She hurried soundlessly to the front door, taking Bird with her in the process and slipped through without facing Derek. Once outside and far away enough from her house, she laughed at herself and the ridiculous fact that she snuck out of her own house like a sixteen years old rebellious teen. Birdie must have thought the same thing as the dog looked up at her confused yet amused. Halfway through her daily jog through the forest, spotting the lake on her right hand, she decided it was time to face her own personal God and meet the consequences of their late night actions.

Abby had found Birdie in her fourth month at the SCU, three years ago. She was looking for a tossed away five months old baby, but found a young pup instead. She had kept him and named it Bird, because he reminded her of the flying animals. It happened with young birds that they sometimes fell out of their mother's nest and were forgotten. The dog must have seen Abby as his mother ever since, because he was unusually protective and somehow, he knew exactly how to act. For instance, Abby approached the front door of her house again, her fingers fumbling with her keys and her hands shaking. As she opened the door, her dog right behind her, her green eyes immediately met Morgan's. She froze on her spot, not sure of what to do. He held one of Abby's favourite mugs, the one with the little yellow ducks dancing around while singing 'Good morning'; he seemed almost insecure, head tilted backwards, lips parted, eyes saying it all. Bird bolted into the house, pushing against her knees and he entered his home. Abby's knees buckled underneath her weight as the dog stormed past her causing her slam into the doorpost. Bird's actions broke the ice and made both of them move.

"Oi! Stupid dog!"

Morgan smiled at her morning mutterings and followed Abby's movements with catching eyes. Birdie seemed unfazed and barely even looked at her when she filled his bowl, still calling the dog names. She straightened herself up and found Morgan looking at her from the other side of the island. She was unsure of what to say, hence her mind came up with the most obvious.

"Morning."

"Morning."

"How'd you sleep?"

"Good."

"Good."

He smiled at her again, a small parting of his lips, his mien young, playful and seductive. But the sparkle in his eyes told her everything; 'I had fun too last night', 'I had a good time last night', 'I really enjoyed last night', 'Last night was good'. Mutual lust. 'We should definitely do that again sometime'. She walked up to him, reflecting his thoughts in her eyes.

"You took a shower?"

As she got closer, Abby smelled her vanilla body shampoo and spotted the miniscule drops of water on his head. He looked rugged, having not shaved, and she thought it suited him better. Made him less slick and more sexy.

"I had to, people would notice."

"Listen, about last night-"

"What about last night?"

He casually sipped on his coffee and looked at her, blank expression on his face. That was the beauty of it. With mutual lust came mutual understanding. The level of attraction needed to be equal, otherwise one would start making demands to parallel. One would not find mutual understanding if they weren't on the same page and be even. She had never met a man with whom she was on the same page. Somehow, after a period of time, they all became dull and boring. Abby snorted and moved to walk past him but with the protesting sound of his voice and a hand on her stomach, his head lowering, he stopped her. She looked up to him, being only a couple of inches shorter, and leant inward to feel his moist and pleasantly hot lips on hers. Just as they were getting into the kiss, Morgan's phone vibrated and rang, the ringtone cutting through the air like a butcher's knife. Quickly, they broke away, caught like two horny teenagers hiding and making out in her room. Morgan sighed as he looked at the caller display and picked up.

"Morgan."

Teasingly, Abby ran her hand over the skin just above the waistband of his black jeans, tickling him. He grabbed her hand after he abruptly placed the coffee mug on the kitchen island, sending her a playful but warning glare. ("Yeah, no, I'm awake.") As she had lost all ability to resist the moment she met Derek Morgan, Abby leant forward and started kissing his neck.

"What, now?"

Morgan kept talking but had obviously trouble focusing and concentrating, placing on hand on the side of Abby's head. The brunette suddenly recognized the voice on the other end of the cell phone and stepped back, glancing at the handsome man before her with a slightly frightened look.

"No, I'm not with anybody, I'll be there in twenty."

The tone of his voice went up as he pretended to cover it up. He paused, his right hand pulling at her sweater, wanting her to come back. She refused and whispered fiercely. "That's JJ, on the phone, isn't it?"

"There's no woman, JJ" – Abby looked at him and made a face, raising her hands in the air – "No. Bye JJ." The second he hung up, Morgan pulled her back and crashed his lips on her mouth as he placed the phone roughly on the counter. She lost herself for a minute whilst she was reminded of the talents and skills of Derek Morgan, sensation running down her back, desire crawling up her legs. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him backwards, both of them moaning protestingly. When she stepped backwards, Derek stepped forward, once again pulling her back.

"That was JJ."

"Yes, we have a case."

"Then stop kissing my neck."

"You like it when I kiss your neck."

"No, I don't. Morgan, stop."

As he gently started biting her neck, Abby couldn't help and started to laugh, her body bending itself into a position that fitted right into his arms. They were like a forest fire, last night reaching a high point, now most of them was put out. Wind stirred and stoked up the smothering remains of the trees, causing the fire to be re-awoken, hot and passionate. In-between kisses, they managed to talk.

"You should go."

"I should go."

"Go. Get. Shoo."

He broke away and pretended to be hurt and offended, but the passion in his eyes remained and scared Abby to death. She managed to regain her composure just as Morgan put on his coat. Whilst he put on his shoes and eyed her body lustfully, Abby's phone rang and JJ called with the same announcement she had given Morgan earlier. They had to come in right away, there was an urgent case.

"Morgan."

"I'm going."

She turned her head, slightly, almost invisibly, the motion infinitesimal, unspoken words reverberating throughout her house. He listened and understood. He swiftly walked up to her and placed a gentle kiss on the side of her head. With mutual lust came mutual understanding.

"IMR, what does it mean?"

Her eyes flashed up to meet his and within seconds, she heard registered the tone of his voice, his expression and his intentions for as far as she could tell. Morgan had referred to the small tattoo on the right side of her neck, one of four she had, just below her ear. Three simple letters, separated by punctuation points, but they held a diabolic meaning and could be catastrophic effects to the right person.

"Instant Morbid Reality, I'll explain it some time when we're drunk as a dime. You said you'd be there in twenty, I gotta be there before you do."

"Why?"

"I'm always in first."

He laughed, chuckling freely and happily, making Abby's hair stand on end. "Whatever."

Silently, she thanked God he didn't look over his shoulder as he closed the door, for that would have turned him from a sex-driven, lusting, craving man into a young, inexperienced teenager that just fell in love with the person that took his virginity.

Abby had several affairs, some not the most clever move, but always light and enjoyable for the both of them. She and Cuba had a thing for a while, but the moment it was supposed to become something serious, they broke it off because they could never do serious. Ever. They were incapable to be serious and seriousness was something that definitely was not included in their dictionary. Then there was one of her team members of the DEA squad, or two, to be exact. They lasted till the point where the new, still discovering part was worn off and it became familiar and routine. Abby was not a fan of relationships. Never had been. For years she believed that she just wasn't cut out for it, but now she understood that she didn't want to be cut out for it, not yet. She wasn't ready yet. Pathetic if she remembered she wasn't twenty-three anymore, but four years older. Then again, she had married the love of her life years ago, when she joined the F.B.I. Miles often joked that she did in fact married the job; little did he know how right he was. Abby was born to hunt them down and catch them. She was a predator, all wrapped up into a nice disguise, extra senses included.

As Morgan closed the door behind him, she rapidly lit another smoke and let her mind run freely, her thoughts immediately chasing their tails, the rollercoaster starting, taking her for a ride and spin around her world. Deep down, way past the lust and desire, beyond the little bug that had nestled near her head and told it and her consciousness this was something else, deep down into the dark abyss of her mind and feelings, she knew something was wrong. What they were doing was going to hurt them, more than either of them intended, more than either of them could imagine. She ran worst case scenarios through her head, but none matched the peril feeling that was steady with her like her own heartbeat. Especially not when she realised that instead of already, slowly, starting to get familiar which led to the dullness and that caused the boringness, he only started to fascinate her more. Brutally, she realised, he was her forest fire and she was the wind had set them, or herself, on fire. She could make him as interesting as she wanted or lay still and let it be put out. Then again, Abby always had a thing for fire and heat.

---

Friday.

07.56

The young genius leant against Abby's desk, unaware of his surroundings and any other presence, reading a book that seemed too interesting to put down, waiting for his fellow genius. Prentiss and JJ had gathered around the black haired female's desk, snickering as they said something – girl talk. Abby spotted Hotch and Rossi on the higher level in his office, discussing something that required a lot of stern and gruff glares and pauses before speaking. Garcia joined Abby just before she entered the B.A.U. and the blonde smiled at her while holding a stack of files.

"Morning Frankie."

"Morning Garcia."

"How' you doin'?"

"I fine, how are you?"

"Good."

They made it a game to make their morning greetings sound as annoying and daily as they could, pronouncing every consonant seconds longer than needed, their voices higher pitched than usual. After they had done that, they would switch back to normal.

"Hé, I heard you were cleared by the doc, congrats."

Abby smiled.

"Thanks." Both women approached the bullpens and they were greeted by the two other agents that awaited the urgentness of their newest case. Reid was still oblivious to the rest of the world and Abby walked up to him as she put her backpack on the wooden desk. "The Crocco transformation."

Reid looked up at her, not even startled. He smiled and showed the book. "Order reduction and construction of Bäcklund transformations and new integrable equations. It's fascinating, really."

"I don't get how partial differential equations can be fascinating genius."

"Don't you hold a PhD in Mathematics?"

"Yeah. And I always found functional-differential equations much more fun."

"I think both of them are boring." Garcia mingled into the conversation and her eyes went over the open page. "Wow, way too many numbers for my personal taste."

Reid and Abby laughed at the tech before Abby sat down and Reid sat down on her desk, immediately starting to discuss the nonlinear equation of convective thermal conduction with a parabolic, Poiseuille-type velocity profile and the brilliance of applying it to reduce the order of the plane boundary-layer equations. She was too caught up in her conversation to hear Morgan enter, and she and Spencer didn't notice him until the three remaining women assembled around his desk.

"With whom were you this morning?" JJ's question caused Abby to look up at the gorgeous man in front of her abruptly but his eyes didn't meet hers, they were focused on the women before him that watched him like a fly caught in a spider's web.

"Oh, you had a date?" Garcia grinned wickedly as she cornered Morgan behind his desk, Prentiss and JJ doing the same.

"Nobody."

"Nobody. Really?" Prentiss' voice was drenched in disbelieve and she shared looks with JJ.

"That's not what it sounded like."

"Oh my God, you were with her while you were on the phone."

Morgan closed his eyes temporarily and raised his hand in defence in Garcia's direction, who glanced from JJ to Morgan in shock. "Okay, I was with a girl but we weren't doing anything when you called." The last part was directed towards JJ and they chuckled, smiling evilly and wickedly.

"Spit it out handsome."

"Hot?" Prentiss' eyes locked with Morgan and they had a staring battle for a brief moment. Morgan obviously surrendered and lowered his hand. Then again, the smile across his lips that appeared for a split second, unseen by the common eye, said it all. 'I had such a good time last night.' 'Last night was great.' 'Last night was fun.' 'Last night was good.'

"Smoking."

"And the sex?"

"None of your business."

Reid's mien was a mixture of awkwardness and confusion as he realised what they were talking about. In the meantime, the four women of the B.A.U. team looked at each other and started laughing.

"That's code for mind blowing." She did her best not to look guilty nor made a suspect of herself. Morgan threw a pen in Abby's direction which caused them to laugh even more.

"I don't hear any denial there, Morgan."

"Prentiss, shut up."

"Guys." Hotch called out to them from the upper level, Rossi next to him as they marched towards the conference room.

"Once again, his timing sucks. Well, back to work. We'll hear the juicy details later."

The blonde media liaison snorted at Garcia's comment before they broke up their united stand and let Morgan be. He and Abby were the last to follow and she couldn't resist the urge, keeping her voice down as she spoke.

"Mind blowing, eh?"

"Don't start."

"Uhum."

He smacked her head with the case file and jogged up the stairs, Abby close behind, flashes of his naked body in her bed shortly invading her mind.

---

Wednesday, five days later.

04.55

Their case had taken them to Seattle where a rich, wealthy and cheating business man decided to take matters into his own hands when his mistress' united and turned against him. He got to killing five of them within nine days when the first two bodies were discovered. The moment he realised the F.B.I. was breathing down his neck, he got nervous, careless and sloppy. It was actually rather easy to catch him, was it not that he killed another two of his courtesans.

Now, it was almost five o'clock in the morning and Abby stared out the window, watching the clouds underneath the plane, floating around aimlessly. She had tried to get some sleep, but her cell phone had buzzed a couple of hours ago, before boarding the plane, and the content of the email she received had been horrifying. This time, it were several pictures, exposing and deep edged, cutting into her body flawlessly and without any problem. Every time she closed her eyes, they loomed up before her eyes and stole her sleep, leaving her restless and absentminded. Reid laid on a row of chairs before her, hugging the book that he had been reading before drifting off into a deep sleep. She smiled at the image and wondered how someone could remain so gentle, so clean, not at all seeming affected by the terror that they witnessed every day. She knew there was more to him than met the eye, she knew that his always working mind took him places he didn't want to go like an involuntary train ride through Horror Land. And yet, there he was. Two years younger than Abby, sleeping like a baby in a plane at an altitude of over 30,000 feet. Would he become just like her? Did he carry the same curse that came with their vehement intelligence?

Next to her, she heard some muffled sounds as JJ was rudely awoken and grabbed her phone. She was the only one allowed to have her cell phone on during flights. Seeing she was the team's liaison, she needed to be reached at all time. Like now, JJ, still weary and sleepy, answered her phone, a few seconds passed and she was immediately awake, sitting up straight and grabbing a pen and a piece of paper.

"Everything okay?"

JJ had hung up. Abby's voice surprised her and their eyes met.

"No, not really."

"Is it Henry?"

"No, no, not like that." She shook her head and smiled at Abby's concern.

"New case, they need us."

"What, now?"

"Yeah. Now." JJ stood up and woke Hotch up to inform him about the latest activities. Then, she headed towards the cockpit to give them a new destination. Abby stood up, leaving the unfazed doctor Reid behind and walked towards the front section of the flying object.

"Hey Chief."

Hotch had been busy with the laptop, probably getting everything ready for Garcia to talk them through whatever they knew about the case.

"Hey. I thought you were sleeping."

"Ya, so did I." Abby sat down opposite of her boss as JJ returned.

"We'll have to land in Minneapolis to fuel up."

"Okay. Call Garcia, have her find out what she can."

"On it."

"That bad, huh?"

JJ had distanced herself, returning to her seat with the phone pressed against her ear. Hotch glanced at her, his expression unreadable. She couldn't place it. Abby squinted and bit her lower lip. "It's either an old case, the presidents life' is at stake or a terrorist attack."

"Bomber."

"That falls under the category terrorist attack, right?"

The subject wasn't funny at all, the fact that Abby made it a game to figure out what new terrible thing needed their attention was perverted, hence there must have been something in the way she said it. The right side of Hotch' mouth shortly lifted and his lips formed themselves into a sorry excuse for a smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Would you mind waking them up?"

She looked to the other side of the plane and it just happened that Morgan sat in that chair, wearing his headphones, his legs pulled up underneath him. She looked back at Hotch and grinned.

"My pleasure sir."

---

Wednesday.

05.33

"Sorry guys, looks like that day off will have to wait."

JJ sat in the center of attention, the team gathered around, all holding mugs, steam arising from them, some held back their yawns and rubbed their eyes.

"Boston just called, in one week two local high schools have been damaged by small bombs. Last night, Emerson College was targeted where a reunion took place. So far, eleven people were injured, three dead." The pretty blonde opened her mouth to continue after the laptop showed part of the damage in a few pictures.

"Wait, did you say Boston?" All eyes were suddenly turned towards Abby and she mentally smacked herself for blurting out like that again.

"Yes."

"Is that a problem, Scott?"

She nervously scratched the back of her hand as Hotch's penetrating eyes ate her alive. "No, sir. It's just-... It's snowing in Boston."

"So?"

Abby waited a few seconds before answering her boss, hoping that the plane would crash or Garcia would interrupt them with news or Reid would spit out some statistic. When no one did, she felt their eyes burning into her body and replied. "I hate snow. Really hate it."

"Better dress warm then Frankie." Luckily, Prentiss chuckled as she said it and Abby must have looked embarrassed enough for Hotch to let it slide.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to blurt it out like that."

"How can you not like snow?" Garcia's face reappeared on the computer screen, looking great as always despite the crazy early hour and her abrupt wake up call.

"Hey, I was raised in Atlanta. I like warm weather."

"Do we know what type of bomb we're dealing with?" Morgan's voice echoed through the conversation and both woman stopped talking, being reminded of the case.

"No. But this.. This was a big bomb."

"Not really baby girl."

She dared to glance in his direction, her eyes being filled with the image of the ever so handsome Derek Morgan. It had been six days since their 'encounter' and so far, nothing had happened since. Not for the lack of wanting, Abby's hands were itching to be in contact with his bare skin again and she walked around with a strange sense of sexual arousal whenever he was near, which was pretty much all the time. They hadn't talked about it, as it should, but she had been looking for some sort of recognition. During the late hours of the night, she had let her thoughts chew on the matter, thinking of reasons why or how. Perhaps he thought it had been indeed been a mistake. It didn't explain how he had acted the next morning though. Then, there was the nefarious idea that he had fallen in love with her and was now restraining himself. That would be consistent with how he had acted. Then again, she knew for sure that Derek Morgan wasn't the guy that would fall in love that easily, not after a one-night-stand, and definitely not with a woman like her.

Maybe this was his way of protecting himself against losing it in their downward spiralling abyss of desire and yearns; the lust too wicked for either of them to understand. That could be the case. And then was the other possibility, the one she had spent the least attention too because quite frankly, she didn't really want it to be the case. There was a chance that their night was exactly just what it was; a one-night-stand. One night. One night and one night only, nothing more, just one night filled with passionate sex and that was it. End of story, goodbye, the end. But it wasn't it, it wasn't the end for it needed to go on much longer. At least that was how Abby saw it. She needed more late night sex, more lingering hands, more kisses to devour her, more talents to drive her crazy and over the edge. No man was able to handle Abby like he could and he didn't even notice it.

"Lab says that it are simple pipe bombs filled with homemade TNT." Garcia spoke as her fingers hit the keys, the clattering sound coming from the computer's speaker.

"Homemade TNT?" Rossi leant in and looked at Morgan. He was, after all, their bomb expert. Instead, Reid suddenly started talking.

"It's actually not that hard to make. If you look it up on the internet, like Wikipedia or even Google, you get the complete formula, properties, boiling point, CAS number, even an EU index number. Anyone with a basic chemistry knowledge and knows how to read molecular formula should know how to make it."

"That's great. And they call Boston the 'Athens of America', over a hundred colleges and universities in the Greater Boston Area alone."

Reid smiled at Abby's sarcasm and he added more facts to their lists. "250,000 Students in Boston and Cambridge, in college only."

"That's a long list of suspects."

Both geniuses nodded at Prentiss' comment and Abby figured that the list would only get longer as professors, teachers and researchers would have to be added as well. They needed to build their profile quickly to eliminate people. "It's kinda ironic though, I mean, after the Boston Bomb Scare in oh-seven, there's a serial bomber in Boston?"

"Boston Bomb Scare?"

"January thirty-first. battery-powered LED placards were placed all over the city for a publicity stunt of Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film for Theatres, based on a TV show called 'Aqua Teen Hunger Force'. People mistook them for bombs and mass panic emerged. Nothing really happened but they got a good scare."

Abby and Reid stared at Morgan flabbergasted, for once not being the ones to spurt out the facts, whilst he explained to Prentiss what the Boston Bombs Scare meant. The man looked at the two images opposite of him and raised his eyebrows. "What, you think you're the only ones that know something?"

"So, what do we have on bombers?" Rossi's question remained unanswered as Reid and Abby both looked at Morgan, who in his turn, eyed them back when none of them spoke.

"Why don't you guys pick someone?" - Abby twisted her face as she spoke, before nudging the man sitting next to her – "Reid, go."

"Mostly male, record of criminal activity. Fifty per cent of the bombings are actually just vandalism. They are highly non-confrontational and quick to apologize, even if it wasn't their fault. They are usually very organized and of average intelligence. He would have a job that allows him to work alone. Both Ted Kaczynski and Eric Robert Rudolph were outsiders and were cognitive and socially isolated. Ted Kaczynski, or the Unabomber, even went so far that he complete cut himself from the outside world and lived in the wilderness, without electricity or running water. They are classis narcissists and often psychopaths. The bombers are all about power and control which allows them to be the most important in their self-centered world view. Eric Robert Rudolph called himself the Roman Catholic and believed to fight in a war again the holocaust, which referred to abortion."

"There are three different types for bombers. The terrorist, whom only wishes to spread fear and will mostly attack public places. Then there is the politically motivated who is making a statement and will have particular targets. Last there is the direct motive with particular victims and bombs designed to kill. So far, only during the Unsub's last attack people were killed. It's safe to say that he did not intend to kill at first, which rules out the last type."

All eyes had been focused on Hotch and even Garcia listened quietly. Abby ran the list down in her head and made her notes, making sure she remembered everything she thought. "Not to forget, they could easily blow themselves up by accident so the first victims should always be considered suspects. And, most importantly, they are incredible cowards. Most likely to kill themselves before getting caught."

"If he's politically motivated, he clearly has a grudge against school, education or anything related. Could be a parents protesting against a certain law or school rules."

"We'll have to see if there's a connection between the schools."

Prentiss' followed up after Rossi and added her two cents. Garcia already started typing before Hotch could speak.

"Garcia, start looking."

"On it boss."

"He could also just be a terrorist. Maybe he wants the attention. Student crying out for help, maybe."

Abby shrugged as she spoke, not sure if what she said made any sense. The night train laughed though, hollow and cruel, and she knew there was something in what just had been said that was important.

"Morgan, you and Scott go to Emerson College. Reid, you, me and JJ will go to the station and set up shop. JJ and I will start looking at victimology and the schools, Reid, set up a geographical profile. Rossi and Prentiss, interview the victim's families but visit the hospital first, I want to know what happened last night."

The nodded in unison, like good little soldiers, getting ready for war.

---

Wednesday.

09.07

Abby ran her hands over her face, slowly letting them glide downwards, the arctic touch of her fingers sending shivers over her body. She had managed to keep her swearing to a minimum when the plane landed; only Reid had heard her and had chuckled constantly, causing the rest of the team wonder what was going on. Upon seeing Abby's face, Prentiss started laughing and JJ invited her to make a snowman. 'It's snowing in Boston' had been an understatement. Boston was, way too early in the season, covered under a thick blanket of large snowflakes. The scenery was, to most people, enchanting and beautiful, but when they overlooked the city through the plane's windows, all Abby saw were wet socks, a red and cold nose, freezing fingers and dying toes. It had also been an understatement when Abby said she hated snow. She held an avid sense of execration and revulsion for the type of weather and if it was up to her, she moved to Florida and took the SCU with her to never see anything so white and pure again. Or should it be the BAU, now?

Next to her, in the driver's seat, Morgan chuckled as he looked at her.

"What are you laughing about?"

"Oh, someone is in a bad mood."

"It's friggin' cold, my feet are freezing, I haven't slept in three days and the lack of nicotine in my brain is reaching a dangerously low level. Turn right, here. I might go into anaphylactic shock."

"Anaphylactic shock?"

"My body's used to a certain base of nicotine. Emerson is the other right."

"I heard you. You wanna walk around in your polyester, dark grey jacket?"

"Hey, it matches my trousers. And, it was a gift."

"You look good in a suit."

Abby laughed. "A suit? This is not a suit."

"Fine, then what do you call it?"

"The feminine vision of a career woman."

This time, it was Morgan's time to laugh and she couldn't help to smile at herself as well. She covered it up by placing her hand in front of her mouth, picking up a faint scent of her cigarettes. Despite the snow, even perhaps because of it, the sun shined brightly and both agents wore their sunglasses, gaining anonymity, raising their professional status. The black SUV they drove did help with that. Morgan moved in his seat and next to Abby, her window suddenly went down a few inches, cool air immediately invading the car. She faced Morgan, opening her mouth for a snappy comment, wondering if she was amusing him, but closed it again when he held her pack of smokes in his hand, dangling it in front of her face.

"Just keep the nasty cloud of nicotine away from me."

He said it teasingly but Abby made it a mental note to not blow smoke in his direction and smoke discreetly whenever he was around. Derek Morgan was not a man she wanted to piss off. Quickly and hastily, she placed a fag between her lips, flicking open her Zippo. When the cigarette was lit, she inhaled deeply and moaned satisfied, leaning back into the car seat. The smoke remained in her lungs until she had to breathe again, her eyes still closed and she smiled.

"Enjoying yourself, Scott?"

"That was better than any orgasm I've ever had."

"Really?"

"Definitely."

His finger brushed past the side of her hand, a jolt of electricity suddenly pulsing through her body, her heartbeat rapidly increasing, a wave of arousal overwhelming her and the space in her chest tightened. Unaware, she took gasped for breath and held it, still without her knowledge, as her head span around in sensation. It hadn't been an accident and both of them were too quiet to possibly try to argue that it was. Instead, Abby corrected herself in her head ('That was better than any orgasm I've ever had') and smoked in silence.

---

Wednesday.

09.56

They now sat in the SUV, the car coming to a halt as they parked in front of the school, both wearing thick and warm coats and Abby had bought ten extra pairs of socks, already wearing two of them. Shamelessly, she had grabbed anything that could keep her warm, even an extra blanket for in the hotel, and looked away when paying the cashier. Morgan had watched the woman with an entertained sheer in his eyes, who in her turn ignored his dazzling smile and sparkling orbs. She did, however, managed to threaten to kill him if he ever told Reid about her spastic buying attack, as she had claimed that she would be fine. Abby's partner had raised his hands, holding back his chuckle and swore he wouldn't.

"This place is deserted."

Abby had stepped out of the car, closed the door and taken a few steps into the school's direction. She turned around slowly but was unable to spot any human activity. The street was dark and partially closed with police tape. As she looked around, a familiar feeling tapped on her shoulder. She knew this was the calm before the storm. Inside, it would be worse. The silence would be deafening and the absence of the joy and laughter a college usually brought would cut through the air flawlessly.

"It's kinda creepy."

"Welcome into the world of serial bombers."

"Seriously?"

"How many times have you dealt with serial bombers?"

Morgan had joined her and they walked towards the entrance.

"Had my share, but not too many. One with the DEA, which was actually just a drug lord that got his hands on TNT accidentally. Four with the SCU, over a three year period. You guys kept beating us to them."

He snorted and followed her gaze through the street.

It was a small street, several cars parked on the side, one lane into one direction, two in the other. Opposite of the college laid a park, the trees white and the grass buried underneath snow. Abby could barely distinct the headstones from the rest of the land as she suddenly noticed the park was actually a cemetery. The building was about nine floors high and it looked rather misplaced in such a narrow street. It was as if she had landed in nineteen century Paris; foggy, smoggy and dusty. If she hadn't known she was in Boston, standing before a school, she would have looked for the prostitutes and the men waiting to rob the wealthy, lost business man or the drunken hooker. Still, she had to admit, the edifice was imposing. That is, despite the yellow tape that somehow shielded the building from the outside world.

"Brings up memories, Scott?"

"Ha. No, I was actually lucky when it came down to being a prodigy in school."

"How's that?"

"I dropped out of high school when I was fifteen. Came back a year later to finish it all in one year, including college. I kicked ass, but I was, as far as I could be, a rather normal person. Now, Reid, man, I don't even know where to begin. Twelve year olds do not belong in high school."

"You dropped out of high school?"

"Yeah. Puberty."

They had reached the front door and Morgan opened it, stepping aside to let Abby in first. Inside, the school was just as abandoned. "Last time I checked, puberty doesn't make teenagers drop out of high school."

"I was a terrible teen." She quickened her pace, not enough to make it look like she was in a hurry or trying to get away, enough to remain professional and in control. Morgan didn't need to know. Apparently, he got the message as he dropped the matter and they followed the hallway. At the end of it, a person appeared around the corner and walked up to meet them.

"Are you the people from the FBI?"

"Yes sir."

The man was short and skinny, his beard white and round glasses on the bridge of his nose. He smelled of pipe tobacco and Abby spotted the golden cord of a pocket watch across his chest. The elder man extended his hand and both agents shook it as Morgan did the introductions.

"Agent Derek Morgan, this is agent Abby Scott."

"Professor"- Abby smiled briefly – "Witkinds. I got a call from the director of the school. He couldn't be here himself."

"We understood he got injured last night."

Abby and Morgan followed professor Witkinds as he guided them to what they assumed was the bomb site. "Yes, it's a shame really. It were only minor injuries but the hospital decided to keep some victims overnight because of the smoke and all."

"I'm sorry to hear that professor."

They had reached the large hall but the professor didn't open the door. Abby could still smell the burnt wood and practically hear the screams.

"Well, it's behind this door. It's a shame what happened. This hall is one of the prides of this school, the damage is repairable, but restoring it back to its original shape is practically undoable." – he sighed deeply and stared at the door once more – "If you don't mind, I've got urgent business to attend to."

"Of course not, professor. Thank you." Abby did her best to smile friendly as the man left. She followed him with her eyes before turning back to Morgan. She leant in his direction when he reached out to open the doors.

"That's why I hated school, did all of it in practically one year. I hated the professors. They never liked me neither."

"I wonder why."

She didn't see his sarcastic grin and replied oblivious.

"Because I was smarter than them, always knew better. To be honest, I think I was quite a pain-"

Abby punched Derek's upper arm once she noticed the look on his face. He chuckled, lifted the yellow tape and opened the doors that lead to a whole new world, one that was not supposed to exist in schools.

The main hall was large, the ceiling high and Victorian decorated. Dirty green wallpaper, beige swirling flowers and golden lines. The room was impressive and functioned as a reception hall for new students, gatherings, graduation ceremonies and meetings. Last night, the room was used for a reunion party for students of class 2000. Balloons still brightened the room, chairs pushed aside to make space on the dancing floor. Several large, long tables were still buried underneath plates of food and bowls with pink-like punch screaming high school teen series. Confetti particles were spread around on the dark, solid, teak wood floor. Abby stopped in the middle of the room and glanced around. Festoons, paper lanterns, colourful banners and cheery flags preserved a meaning, a purpose that was supposed to be a big blast. None could have thought that it would have been taken seriously. Abby pictured the DJ on the stage, his hand in the air as music filled up the room, overcoming the steady chattering rush.

She stood still, her back towards the blast site, unsure of wanting to turn around. She was afraid of the memories it might recall upon, the smell alone, already reminiscent of days in the rain, mosquitoes buzzing around her head, silent coughs of exhaustion and still, sharp, shrewd eyes through the bushes. Morgan wandered around the ballroom and she heard the small debris under his feet gnarl, crisping like the snow had done minutes before. As she closed her eyes, she could practically hear the party, the laughter of joy, the chatting, the dancing and the music, reverberating in her ears. They did not have particular details about last night, on the plane they had a few minutes to look at the reports and photos Boston PD had faxed, but they were mostly flying blind. So she closed her eyes and imagined what would have happened.

The air vibrating, light and full of felicity, once again reunited, the summoned memoirs casting a reddish, bright glow over the scenery. Everything was fine, everything was good. Suddenly, out of the blue, a blast with the sound of a freight train came from the corner, behind Abby. Chaos and panic erupted like magma spouting from volcanoes, directionality was jumbled, people ran across the room, trying to get away. After a few seconds, the screaming begun, full of agony, fear and deep pain, skin scorched, sights blinded, curtains on fire, blood flowing and the putrid stench of burning corpses excoriated through Abby's nostrils. Her eyes popped open and she turned around, remaining silent all the while, cocking her head to the side as she approached the dark circle of ash and burn marks, traces of footsteps grouped around where the blood was distinctive.

The blast was big, big enough to leave visible marks, but the building still stood, the high ceiling was barely touched by the licking flames, the wallpaper scrabbled and torn on numerous places and black and parched, but the most damaged had been done to the floor, the table closest to the bomb completely destroyed. Scorch marks and holes told a tale of destruction and impact. Overall, the whole scene didn't make a lot of sense. Morgan had squatted down partly in the circle of dust and Abby put on a pair of blues gloves. She picked up a piece of a structure, wiping off the dirt as she tried to determine what it was.

"We're gonna need pictures of how it looked before."

Abby only nodded and continued to stare at the weird object in her hands.

"What's that?"

"I have no clue, but it's scattered everywhere according to the crime scene photos."

"Could be what contained the bomb."

"Talking about that bomb, how on earth could the UnSub have smuggled it inside?"

"If you look at the blast radius, it wasn't a big bomb. The TNT made the blast this big. He could have easily carried it in a backpack or something similar."

"So, he shows up at a party, walks right in with his backpack, places the bomb, takes off. Boom."

Abby made a motion with her hands, expanding the width of her arms, portraying an explosion. Morgan looked at her shortly before he stood up.

"I'll call JJ about the pictures and if there was a guest list. Otherwise, he would have to have entered through a backdoor or something. There's no real security, I doubt there were more than three security guards last night."

"What makes you say that?"

"They're adults, grownups. There were a couple of teachers, the dean. It's a small school, I don't think they were expecting anything."

"He took advantage of the situation. He could have known all about it."

"That means he could be a student or one of the students of class 2000."

"Or he's been watching."

---

_"One is not exposed to danger who, even when in safety is always on their guard."_

Publilius Syrus


	2. Conquer without glory

_"To conquer without danger is to conquer without glory."_

Pierre Corneille

---

Wednesday.

13.34

Sighing heavily, Abby embraced herself and gathered her courage. Morgan had parked the car close to the police station, only a mere hundred feet to cross before arriving in the probably –hopefully – warm station where hot coffee and radiators would greet them as long lost friends. But first, she had to conquer the snow. She stiffened her jaw, clenched her fists, almost gritting her teeth before opening the door of the black SUV, following right after Morgan. Immediately, a penetrating force of icy coldness and a sharp breeze hit her square in the face and she wrapped her arms around herself for as far as she could with the thick, feather-like stuffed coat she was wearing. She fell in behind Morgan, taking short and calculated steps to prevent herself from falling into the white mass. The tall agent laughed once he glanced in her direction and she shot him a peril glare.

"You need a hand?" He was clearly mocking her, extending his black leather gloved hand, still smirking.

"No."

Derek chuckled at the firmness of her voice and the stubbornness written on her face as she moved away from his helping hand.

"I'm not retarded, I can walk for myself."

"Uhu."

"Shut up."

They got closer to the police station, closing the distance and Abby could almost smell the fresh black liquid.

"Just, watch your-"

God hated her, she knew for sure. They never got along. She always figured it was a good thing He was never around for if they would accidentally end up in the same room, there would be a flagrant cat-fight. His grudge against her, however, outgrew her own expectations as the Creator had decided she just _had_ to step on a slippery piece of pavement, the same pavement that should have led to her Valhalla. The moment she placed her foot down and put her weight on it, her right foot slipped from underneath her and Abby hung in the air momentarily.

"- step."

The deity, earthy man was right in time to catch her and he quickly pulled her back on her feet as the woman in his arms cursed ("Fuck! I hate snow!") and threatened the man who supposedly had created them. Morgan's laugh caused the grim mien on her face to darken and the knit in her brows to tighten.

"You sure you don't me to carry you inside?"

"Seriously, Morgan, I swear, if you do not stop this instant I will shoot your ass."

The man walked past her, controlled and steady on the smooth layer of snow, smug still firmly placed on his gentle and handsome face, the lips she kissed nights ago still pulled up in a flashing, dazzling smile. She stopped him firmly and pointed a finger in the air, right at his face. "And if you tell anyone, I_ will_ cut your dick off."

"All right all right, hot-head, let's just get inside first before you fall again and split your skull open."

"You would love that."

"I would love to see you fall on your ass, not watch you die."

"Who said anything 'bout dying?"

"The skull splitting part did."

"Do you have any extra-curricular activities planned, agent Morgan?"

"Oh, I wouldn't dare, agent Scott."

Bickering like an old married couple, they reached the front door, cops passing them by constantly. Morgan opened the door for her, one hand positioned in the air behind Abby's back, just in case she – God – decided to send her flying through the air again. As she moved through the doorframe, she halted and turned to meet Morgan's face, his face that was closer than intended.

"Then stop staring at my ass." She flashed him a quirky smile of her own before entering the Boston Police Department, not looking over her shoulder once.

Inside the warm police station, Abby made her way through rows of simple desks, behind some, officers and detectives feverishly working and talking on phones. She quickly spotted the pretty blonde in the room, talking to two detectives. Smoothly, making her approach, she couldn't help but noticing one of the detective's fine be-hind.

"This is agent Scott. Detective Callum and Hayley." – JJ pointed at the two officers of the law, one female and one male – "Detective Hayley is the lead detective on the bombings."

"Hi, how ya doin'?"

Kindly shaking their hands, she felt the eyes of the attractive Mitchell Hayley on her. His face was muscular, strong, high cheek bones. She noticed the lack of width between his blue-grey eyes, which meant he was a predator. His brown hair was messy and for a brief second, she wondered if he stood an hour in front of the mirror to make it look that casual, or that he actually got out of bed without doing his hair. Spotting his clean cut suit and the absence of wrinkles, she guessed the former. No wedding ring, he held onto her hand a little longer, he eyed her up and down, pupils dilated. He was into her. Great.

"Where's Reid?"

"Back of the room."

"Thanks. Detectives."

With a small nod and a friendly hand on JJ's arm, she left the threesome and met up with Morgan halfway, beckoning him into the right direction.

"Genius, please tell me you have coffee."

"On the table. You look terrible."

Abby blew into the room that was temporarily used as their home base. Reid stood before one of the many whiteboards in the room, this one just like the other, covered in photos, notes and written thoughts. He rotated his shoulders swiftly, laid his eyes on her, and turned back towards the board. She had taken off her wool gloves and cosy, crochet hat but kept her coat on and sat down with a cup of coffee. Morgan entered the room as Prentiss greeted them both and she handed him a mug as well.

"Hey, how did it go?"

"Both bomb sites are pretty much the same, small bomb, small blast radius, damage to the properties." Morgan answered.

"Do we have anything on his signature yet?"

"Homemade TNT?" Abby raised her eyebrows as she talked, insecurity could be mistaken for the obviousness in her voice, curling up in her warm coat. Morgan shrugged, took his coat off and sat down. "Could be."

"So far, there is no clear pattern in his choices. Garcia did background checks on the victims and the schools, nothing came up so far. Nothing that would want the UnSub to kill them. And, he's" – Prentiss faintly pointed in Reid's direction – "has been staring at that map for half an hour."

Abruptly, Abby rose from her comfortable chair and joined Reid in his stare at the board, sipping on her coffee. As he appointed the places that had been targeted with his long finger, he talked. "Boston Latin school, a catholic high school. Brighton High school, public as well. There's no discrimination, from both high school students were accepted into Emerson College of communication and performing arts. They hold absolutely nothing in common, they're just random."

"Nothing is random, Genius, you're a doctor, you should know that."

Reid looked at her for a couple of seconds, tearing his gaze away from the map.

"How did it go at the hospital?" Just as Morgan asked Prentiss, Hotch and Rossi entered, taking off their coats and grabbing warm cups of coffee.

"A lot of the victims didn't see a thing. There was one guy, however, Trevor George, he said the cake exploded. Now, I don't know whether he was huffed up on morphine or that he was telling the truth, but take a look at this." The team huddled around the desk as Prentiss showed them a picture of the previous night. "JJ asked for photos from the people that were there, look at this. This is where the bomb exploded and look what's on that table?"

"It's a giant cake." Morgan stated flatly.

"George said the cake exploded." The woman looked up at Rossi, whom leant over her shoulder to look at the picture. Abby looked at Morgan and moved her hand. "That's what we found at the crime scene. It was all over the place in the same radius."

"So the bomb was inside the cake?"

"Under the table the cake stood on. That table was completely destroyed." Morgan corrected them.

Abby took the picture from Prentiss and her other hand sought for the rest of the photos. She cocked her head to the side, alarming Reid, whom sat down next to her. "What do you see?"

"I'm not sure. Where were the other bombs placed?"

"At Boston Latin it was placed in a garbage can and at Brighton on the stage. What else have we got?"

Hotch spoke, coughing shortly as he made his way to the head of the table and overlooked the room.

"Nobody saw a thing at the party. They were all too busy partying." As the elder agent spoke, Rossi tucked his hand in his pocket, the other sipping on his black coffee.

"Helen McKirren, Joey Tack and Melissa Ovel are dead, they were closest to the bomb. Coroner pulled bomb shrapnel from what was left of their bodies, including, what we just determined, pieces of the cake. The cake could be the reason why people died since there was barely anything used to function as shrapnel in the bomb itself." Hotch was staring at the pictures of the victims, his eyes narrowing when he looked up at one of the boards.

"Scott and I checked when we were at the school, there was barely any security. The UnSub could have easily placed the bomb before the party, it's small enough to be carried around in a backpack of sorts."

"Lab found out all bombs were wired to a timer. So our UnSub wouldn't have to be close to detonate." His words caused to Abby look at Hotch, frowning, as did Morgan and Prentiss. Again, she glanced in her colleague's direction. "That means he didn't have to stay and watch, right?"

The dark, gorgeous man nodded in her direction. "He's making a statement."

"But why? And for what? What does he want?"

She shrugged at Reid's questions, observing the photo in her hand once more to figure out what was eminent enough for the night train to chase the fog from underneath the wheels. The door opened with force and JJ waltzed into the room, her bright eyes big and furious. Or was it fear?

"Guys, we just received a message. It's from the UnSub." She was holding a bagged piece of paper and handed it to Hotch, whom moved forward to meet her halfway. He read the letter, frowning as his lips formed soundless words.

"What's it say?" Prentiss asked.

"Be not deceived: evil communications corrupt good manners."

"The first Corinthians 15-33. The First Epistle of Paul to the Corinthians, usually referred to simply as First Corinthians and often written 1 Corinthians, is the seventh book of the New Testament. The book, originally written in Greek, was a letter from Paul of Tarsus and Sosthenes to the Christians of Corinth in Greece. The letter was written during this time in Ephesus, which is dated around 53 to 57 AD. 15-33, that's from the fourth part, which is about the immorality in Corinth. It's divided in three sections; discipline an Immoral Brother, resolving personal disputes and sexual purity." No one looked up when Reid spurted out his facts, no one was surprised at all that the young man even knew the Bible.

"Emerson was about communications and performing arts." Abby quipped, glancing around the room as Rossi repeated the last part of the sentence. "Evil communications corrupt good manners."

"It could be that he did not intend to kill those people yesterday night." "And this note is his 'hello'." Hotch spoke after Prentiss and JJ scratched her forehead nervously. "He knows we're here."

"Looks like it."

"What do we have so far?" Their indomitable leader spoke again.

"Male, Catholic raised, probably went to a Catholic school."

"Boston Latin was a Catholic school." Morgan added to Rossi's list and they continued on their preliminary profile.

"He knows his stuff. Chemistry student, teacher, professor or researcher. A scientist."

"He's getting bolder; he sent us a message." Prentiss looked around the room, something she did frequently when talking. It made Abby ruminated whether or not Prentiss had some sort of a teaching background. Then again, her mother was a politician. "He chooses his targets at random. So far, we've found no connection between the schools. If they represent something, we'll have to dig deep."

"So he's making a statement. His targets don't necessarily have to mean anything if he is just in for the attention." Abby eyed Reid after he was done talking before she opened her mouth herself. They both knew there was some sort of significance, they just had to figure out what.

"He's narcissistic, self-centered. It's about power and control. He's isolated. If he's a teacher or a professor, he'd be disconnected from the world. His students would describe his as a nutty professor-"

The newest asset to the team shamelessly interrupted Morgan's flow of words. "He's a Nazi."

Morgan nodded in her direction once, conceding in what she just said.

"As a researcher, he wouldn't have much contact with his co-workers, he would surround himself with work. If he's a student, he would be overly ambitious, possible straight A-student, loner, spends all his free time studying and reading." Reid and Abby glared at Morgan studiously and he frowned upon seeing their glares. Then, she turned her head to look at Reid, whom in his return did the same.

"Let it slide?" The genius smiled and nodded at his fellow female genius, whom focused back on the handsome agent. "We'll let that slide."

He smirked. That flashy, head-spinning, sensuous smile. "Sorry guys."

"Ask Garcia to track down straight A-students from Boston Latin, see what she comes up with. Cross reference it with Emerson College." Hotch said.

"There has to be a reason why he suddenly decided to go all Christopher Nolan."

"Christopher Nolan?" JJ's expression was confused, wrinkles on her pretty face, staring dazed at Abby. She still held onto her cell phone in her right hand. Was that some sort of solace?

"Director of _the Dark Knight_. He stated in interviews that he wanted to blow up more things anyone ever had blown up."

"Loss of love. Recent trauma. Financial problems." Rossi summed it up dully. The three reasons, stressors, that were discussed during every single case.

"Have Garcia look into that as well."

"On it." Morgan rose from his seat, grabbing his cell to call his favourite person.

---

Wednesday.

19.18

'_Next stop: Dreamland. Perfect for a pair or only for one, the signature W bed beckons in king or double configurations with plush pillow-top mattress, 350-thread-count sheets and goose down comforter and pillows. In a setting of earth tones, fall asleep and wake up just steps from some of Boston's best attractions when you go out and about, or stay in and check out our state-of-the-art entertainment system featuring a 37" LCD TV, DVD/CD player, stimulating selections from our culturally aware media library, iPod docking station and Tivoli alarm clock with radio. Feeling the need to nibble? Open up the delightful Munchie Box and pull out a sweet treat!_

When business calls, answer at the oversized work desk with office chair, High Speed Internet Access and dual-line cordless phones as a surreal, large image of New England nature oversees, divining a quote from Henry David Thoreau. Unwind in the slate-finished bathroom full of luxurious Bliss® Spa sink side six bath amenities—gush over the walk-in shower with cheeky peek-a-boo glass doors or stretch out in the separate bath tub. (360 square feet)'

A hotel room with a 'culturally aware media library, iPod docking station and Tivoli alarm clock with radio'. Abby couldn't believe it when she read the brochures of the W. Hotel on 100 Stuart street. 'Colonial history, meets revolutionary modern'. From the outside, it looked horrible. The entire building was made of light glass that held an icy-blue-ish, bright, sharp neon light-like glow over the overall edifice, making it look like deep frozen water. Instantly, Abby felt as if she had landed in James Bond's _Die Another Day_. Once inside, after reading the brochure while JJ and Hotch took care of their rooms (it had been difficult to find rooms in the area. She was sure the W. Hotel wasn't Hotch' first choice either, when she eyed the prizes), she realised that the brochure had been right, actually. Colonial history. That was one way to describe the cave like, brick covered walls entrance. There were Feng Shui short-wall fountains on the opposite side of the reception desk, behind it the 'W. bar' with more water, fountains, sprinkles and futuristic looks. The hotel was quite 'earthy' despite its sleek, cold, possible future-look, and it reminded Abby of a spa.

"Wow." JJ was looking up at the ceiling, rotating around as she took a good look.

"They actually do have 'Wow' suite." Sarcasm dripped from Abby's voice and Morgan playfully nudged her after she had spoken, causing the elbow she had been resting her head on, to slide off the counter. She wondered briefly what happened to four walls, a bathroom and a bed when Hotch approached the group again.

"You're just grumpy because it's completely non-smoking."

She huffed shortly. "Like that's going to keep me from hanging out of my hotel room window."

"Wow."

Prentiss laughed at JJ, who still stood with her head lifted upwards and her eyes dancing around the hall.

"Imagine what happens if she sees her room." Rossi's comment made the group break into small smiles, even on Hotch' tired face.

"Get some sleep tonight guys. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

"Anyone wanna go out for something to eat."

"Oh, me!" Prentiss raised her hand excitedly like a young kid in primary school, knowing the answer to a question and hurried to stand next to Morgan.

"Count me in as well, mister." The blonde interlaced her arms with Morgan's and Prentiss' as they expectedly looked at the rest of the group.

"I'm good."

"Oh, come on!"

"Don't even go there Prentiss. Do you have any idea's how many people touched the food that lies on your plate in about half an hour?"

"I don't know about you Frankie, but I can't resist a good steak." Rossi was loudly welcomed into the group as Reid was dragged to their side by Prentiss, not even bothering to object as it would have been pointless.

"Hotch." JJ's voice was a combination between begging and threatening him, but he would not budge.

"You go, have fun. We'll actually do some work."

"Boring workaholics. Remember to leave us something to do."

"You mean after you've finished your steak, Rossi?"

"It makes me sleep at night."

"C'mon, let's leave these two boring, dusty, having no life people, let's get something to eat."

Morgan dragged the two woman that hung at his arms forward and the five agents walked away, heading quickly to the elevator to put their bags in their hotel rooms before rushing off to a potentially great steak. Abby and Hotch watched them from a distance as the space between them increased. Whilst waiting for the elevator to come back down, Abby casually tucked her hands in her pockets and leant sideward to Hotch.

"0845."

He looked up from his cell phone and eyed her suspiciously. "Your room number?"

She snorted after her eyebrows lowered from the fearful mien. She glanced in his direction briefly and snickered again. "I don't know what you Native Americans call, but us Brits, call it room service."

"Oh." A smile managed its way to crack his usual stern and stark expression and he looked at her. "Oh." He said again.

"Room number. Ha. You wished."

The moving cubicle arrived and they both stepped into (Abby received a playful smack to the back of her head upon entering it), inside their heads still smiling, their exterior subsequently grim and professional.

---

_"It was only natural to want to destroy something you could never have."_

Janet Fitch


	3. Moments of comfort

_"No cause is left but the most ancient of all, the one, in fact, that from the beginning of our history has determined the very existence of politics, the cause of freedom versus tyranny."_

Hannah Arendt

---

Wednesday.

22.56

Abby loved smoking. It was a part of her, of who she was. She knew the risks, she knew the statistics. But she also knew the statistics on deaths and injuries of FBI agents, death's due to alcoholism, car accident related deaths, the chances of being mobbed and then killed, or only killed. She tracked down and caught serial, mass and spree killers for Pete's Sake. She reckoned that if it was her time, it was her time. Death had always been a phenomenon that she felt attracted to; it appealed to her. There was something about it and she couldn't put her finger on it. The dead never scared her, human or not. When she was little, she would always bring dead animals with her and bury them in the woods. At the age of fourteen, she saw her first dead body; a junkie friend of hers, o.d.'ed. It didn't startle her as much as it should and Abby's suspicions that she was 'different', then became facts.

Despite the fact that dead people didn't scare her, death itself did held an odd awkwardness. She didn't believe in God, or heaven and hell. Nor did she believe in reincarnation. Which all left her to wonder; what would happen to her when she died, when she was dead. Where would she go? Would she even be 'she', or did the lights simply went out and that was that? She couldn't help but hope that it wouldn't be the case. Because if it was, then what was the point in accomplishing anything? You die and you forget, you become dust in the wind. If they truly were only the pawns in a much bigger chess game, one that exceeded their believes, what was the point? For as long as she remembered, Abby needed a visual on what she was chasing, she needed to know where to go, she needed to know her destination. There had to be a point in everything she did, progression and moving forwards. If all that meant nothing, then what did her life mean? To herself, to anyone? To be remembered by the people that were left behind? No. Because Abby also hated dwelling in the past. What was done, was done and so be it.

Smoking was part of the destructive path she was on. She knew it; she knew herself. Rather sooner than later, Abby always said whenever someone mentioned that smoking killed. She was afraid of aging because she knew – she feared – how she would end up. The few friends she had, were agents. Holly 'Lewy' Lewis, her former SCU colleague, had already once been on the edge after she got shot by an UnSub. She had been in coma for two months. Rehabilitation was supposed to be at least a year, but Lewy was back after six months because she was a stubborn bitch. When Lewy got shot, the remaining SCU team decided 'being a stubborn bitch' had to be added to the job requirements. Trevor Harrison had smoked, much to Angie Wills, Abby's former boss, dismay. He was killed in a trap set by the man they were chasing, also whilst on the job. Smoking was, according to SCU standards, like a teenage girl eating too many fast food. You knew it could kill you someday, but the risks of o.d.-ing on drugs, dying from STD's, getting shot at school, getting jumped at night and killed, getting hit by a car or suicide were far greater than actually living long enough to make it to the point where obesity became life-threatening.

On days like these, however, Abby hated the fact that she smoked. Hanging from her hotel room, snow was softly blown into her hotel room, wetting the dark brown carpet under her feet. The wind was sharp and cut into her face like little razorblades. Her lips trembled causing the smoke that escaped her mouth to move in a strange, disturbed flow of clouds. When she brought the cigarette to her mouth, her hand shuddered enough to make her reconsider smoking in the first place. Quickly, she threw the cigarette out of the window on the second floor and closed the windows and the curtains. Gripping the three blankets around her shoulders tighter, she decided she had prolonged her questions long enough; her mind needed answers.

Her feet almost didn't fit in her shoes anymore because of the three pairs of socks she was wearing. The black Adidas were close-fitting and compact around her feet, as if she had tied her shoelaces too tight. She exited her perfect for a pair or only for one, the signature W bed beckons in king or double configurations with plush pillow-top mattress, 350-thread-count (She counted; it were actually three-hundred-and-fifty-two threads) sheets and goose down comforter and pillows, all set in earth tones 'Wonderful room' and stepped out in the hallway. Shuffling towards room o847, across from hers, she held the files in her arms against her chest. She knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer, glancing around the corridor to pass the time. Derek Morgan revealed himself from behind the door and she registered the movement on his face.

There was part fear, eyes widened, eyebrows lifted. The thought that she had come to do their little encounter over must have crossed his mind. They were on the job, it worried him on the same moment his mind told him she was a professional too and she wouldn't do that, she wouldn't risk it. That must mean she had something on her mind. His brain moved like clockwork as his brows knitted together and wrinkles appeared on his forehead; confusion. And, of course, there was the awkwardness. Last time they had been alone together in a room when it wasn't related to their case, white-hot burning sex had kept them up almost the entire night.

"Hey. Were you asleep, am I bothering you?"

"No, no, what's up?"

Abby had underestimated Morgan's ability to 'catch on'. Confusion was erased from his face and the uncouth air between them dissipated. He was quicker than she thought when he instantly stepped aside and opened the door further to let her in.

"I just had a couple of questions that I couldn't answer for myself. A few things I wanted to run past you to see what you think of it. I've had too much coffee and I'm freezing, so I can't really trust my brain. Plus, y'know, I don't have much experience on serial bombers. Relaying on your expertise here, Morgan."

He smiled gently at her irrational babbling and motioned for her to sit down on the king-sized bed. "What's on your mind?"

Abby popped down on the bed, shortly observing that the bed was still made; nobody even laid on it. In front of the cabinet in the corner stood his go-bag, still untouched. On the oversized work desk with office chair, High Speed Internet Access and dual-line cordless phones as a surreal, large image of New England nature oversees, divining a quote from Henry David Thoreau, laid several case files and pictures were spread out. As she folded her legs underneath her body Indian style, she started talking.

"What can you tell me about the bombs?"

"What do you want to know?" Derek handed her a bottle of water and sat down in the chair that he pulled from behind his 'oversized work desk' whilst sipping on his own bottle.

"I know the basics. Small pipe bombs, an improvised explosive device, tightly sealed section of four pipes filled with an explosive material, Homemade TNT. The containment provided by the pipe means that simple low explosives can be used to produce a relatively large explosion, and the fragmentation of the pipe itself creates potentially lethal shrapnel. A short section of steel water, explosive mixture, closed at both ends with steel or brass caps, a fuse. The fuse can be electric with wires leading to a timer and battery or one that comes with the overly used consumer fireworks. All of the components are easily obtainable. TNT is highly uncommon with pipe bombs, but our UnSub made it himself, he could have used lower proportions, used less nitrogen dioxide" – Abby spotted the look on Morgan's face – "And he could have done all kinds of other stuff to make the explosion smaller than usual. That tells me what a pipe bomb actually is, the science. Hell, I can even look up on YouTube how to make a one, I didn't need to know all the science. No, I wanna know how you look at this bomb."

To emphasize her last sentence, she grabbed the picture of the reconstructed bomb that was created from the pieces recovered at the Boston Latin School.

"Okay."

He licked his lips and rubbed his hands against each other, locking his eyes with Abby long enough to make her melt, and as he started talking, his voice was low and soothing; like a child's lullaby.

"A pipe bomb is often made by kids, teenagers, whom like to blow things up for fun. The design is simple, too simple. That's why it isn't used as an actual bomb; it's not used to kill. The explosion range is not big and strong enough, a loud bang and that's basically it. We have four pipe bombs, tied together, all wired to one timer. That means he's neat, organized, precise. One mistake and it could suddenly blow up or when the timer goes off, not blow. The wiring is almost perfect, you can clearly see where which wire comes from and where it is going. He put a lot of time and effort into making this thing. Then, the TNT. Pipe bombs are small bombs. Using TNT would make the blast radius bigger, do more damage."

"Were these bombs designed to kill?"

He opened his mouth and hands, hesitating to answer.

"Just, the bomb. Not the targets, no numbers. The bomb. Could it have been used to kill people?"

"I don't think so."

Abby clapped her hands once, 'Eureka' written all over her face. From underneath her blankets, she grabbed her files and note block. At least six pages had been covered in written black words and sentences and Morgan briefly studied the paper block before looking up at the woman sitting on his bed. She noticed his eyes on her, burning through the soft, fabric walls she had created for herself. She could tell he wanted to ask, but her somewhat shocked and immediate defensive reaction made him silent. The whole scene had happened in two, three seconds, short enough for Abby to pretend nothing happened. As she spoke, she spread the pictures around in front of her, often catching Morgan's look to see if he still followed.

"So, all three bombings were after regular hours. Only a few people were still at their schools, but most of the students were long gone. I guess it's safe to say that he was only in for the destruction of property, not to kill. Except for Emerson, where people actually were killed, which is, still weird. I haven't figured that out yet. Then, we have the bombs themselves. They're small, easy to transport, TNT is more stable compared to other explosives. For a city with so many schools, security actually sucks, he could have easily walked in and out. Biggest clue is, however, the fact that he didn't stay and watch. Profile says it; non-confrontational, quick to apologize. Both Ted Kaczynski and Eric Robert Rudolph had social and occupational failures marked by an increase in cognitive behavioural isolation, poor social and interpersonal skills. He's an outsider, a follower wanting to be a leader. He's making a statement, but he doesn't stay to watch? Why not? And you need confidence to stand in front of a class, I've been there myself, there's no way our UnSub could be a teacher or a professor."

"That leaves student or researcher. The composition of the TNT suggests researcher, you'd need to know an awful lot about TNT if you can alter that."

"What about a prodigy with an obsession for science?"

"Possible. We need to pinpoint his age, then we can rule one of them out."

"I'm voting student."

"Why's that?"

Abby leant down on the bed, resting her torso on the arm she had positioned underneath. "Because it's all about sex and power."

Morgan laughed and it tickled her, causing her lips to form a smile as well. "Neat, organized, great knowledge. You're on missy."

Abby chuckled loudly and slapped her hand down on the one Morgan extended in her direction. For a moment, they remained silent, catching secret glares, sipping on her their water, Abby longing profoundly for a cigarette. Suddenly, Abby's cell phone vibrated in the pocket of the long vest she was wearing. Grabbing it, she looked at the caller display and rested her head on the bed.

"Genius." She fumbled with the sheets (three-hundred-fifty-two threads) as she listened carefully to Reid. "Wow, wow, slow down, slow down rabbit. I'm in Morgan's room, across the hall."

A brief interlude swept through the Wonderful room. "I had a few questions, don't get your panties in a bunch, stupid. What, you think I would sleep with a member of this team? I'm not that stupid. No offense, Morgan."

He raised his hands shortly, the sexual tension in the room rapidly building up. The air became so thick, she even felt it was hard to breath as electricity between them pushed jolts of energy into her body. The lie brought up reminiscent events, and when she glanced at Morgan, he caught her eyes and she knew. They both knew. Last Thursday had not been a one-time-only thing. It had not been a one-night-stand. In fact, the urge to jump him was so strong; she hopped off the bed ('We're working a case, we're working a case, we're working a case, we're working a case. WORKING, Frankie, work!') and jogged to the door to get Reid into the room, sighing behind his back once the young man stood inside the room.

"I have a theory."

"Fire away." Abby plopped back on the bed, Morgan remained sitting in his chair, leant back against the backside. Reid maintained his position in the middle of the room, his hands already raised, something he always did when getting ready for a rant.

"The note, he sent. 'Be not deceived: evil communications corrupt good manners'. Be not deceived, that's directed to us, he knows we're here. That means he's not paranoid, like many serial bombers. He watches the news, reads the papers. The passage is actually from the King James Version and on evil communications they say: error and vice are infectious: and, if we would avoid the contagion, we must keep clear of those who have taken it. He that walketh with wise men shall be wise; but a companion of fools shall be destroyed."

"A companion of fools. He's definitely making a statement. He wants something. Possible God-complex."

Morgan had trouble following Reid's mind, the rapid flow of his words and the speed of the train ride was too fast. Abby processed the information quicker, thus it was easier for her to follow. The fact that she knew the Bible as well (She doubted that Morgan could recite the entire Bible like they could) and knew where Reid was talking about, did help.

"Now, good manners. It must refer to the fact that three people were killed because of his latest bomb. It could be his way of apologizing or letting us know it was not his intention to kill them."

"Then why didn't he just say that?" Neither Abby nor Reid had an answer to the seemingly rhetorical question Morgan asked, but it did get them thinking.

"And why were you here, anyway?"

Abby gloomed, lines appeared on her forehead. "He's the bomb expert. I needed to know a couple of things and test out a theory. Why were you coming to see me?"

"Testing out a theory?" The painful look on the doctor's face was too entertaining and both agents laughed at him. He smiled himself and tucked his hands in his pockets.

"Don't worry Reid, detective Hayley can have her all to himself." Morgan commented laughing and he glanced at Abby. So he noticed. She couldn't determine whether she was pleased with that result, or that she should be frightened. "What am I, a trophy you can pass around?"

"Wait, detective Hayley?" Reid looked cute when confused.

Just as the vibe in the room turned from relaxed to friendly and chuckles filled the room, Morgan and Abby chuckling at Reid's obliviousness, a deafening, loud and invading sound came from outside. The explosion caused the windows, the walls and the furniture to shake. Glass rattled for several seconds after impact, creating an ominous, sinister, pernicious air in the room that gave impetus to the feeling of an eminent threat. Abruptly, Abby was completely aware of her surroundings; Morgan four feet away, in the black office chair, his back to the still clattering window. Reid stood in the middle of the room, in front of the light wooden desk, about ten feet away from her. The door was unlocked, twenty feet away. She would need five seconds to lift herself swiftly from the bed and reach the door. She wouldn't use the elevators; the stair case was just around the corner. Her gun, a Glock .22, was, as per usual, safely secured on the right side of her hip, one second to rack the sliding mechanism and it was loaded.

Through the window, she could see the black sky now covered in a yellow glow as she heard glass breaking, car alarms went off, people in the street started screaming, concrete fell down on the pavement and the debris that followed was just like the cracking of the snow under boots.

"What the fuck-?"

---

_"Man seeks to escape himself in myth, and does so by any means at his disposal. Drugs, alcohol, or lies. Unable to withdraw into himself, he disguises himself. Lies and inaccuracy give him a few moments of comfort."_

Jean Cocteau


	4. The God on a cross

_"It is better to meet danger than to wait for it. He that is on a lee shore, and foresees a hurricane, stands out to sea and encounters a storm to avoid a shipwreck."_

Charles Caleb Colton

---

Wednesday.

23.45

There were a few things you could say about Abby Scott. For instance, she was a stubborn person. She looked at things the way she saw at them, she held her believes and stuck by it, she trusted her gut and followed it. If she had something in her mind, it was bound to happen. That had gotten her into some tricky situations, but also saved quite a few lives, including her own a couple of times. She had trust issues, true. She didn't like when people got to close; she preferred her distance. It often seemed like she connected with people, but at some point, they would all be confronted with the fact that in the end, they didn't know Abby as well as they thought. She was quirky, quick with the witty remarks and sharp rebounds. There was really not much that she wouldn't say. It was difficult, mostly more for Abby than the person on the receiving end, but she felt that if she wouldn't speak the truth about things, it would all build up inside of her. Seeing her line of work, she needed her head as clear as possible. The truth. That was a problem too, though. It was not for the lack of trying to be honest, because she did her best, but she held her dark secrets, hidden far away in an empty corner of her mind where it could brood and multiply to eat itself. Really, it was all tangled up with each other like a house of cards. One thing led to the other. On the lower level, you would find the truth- and trust-issue. A little higher were commitment issues and her sense of loneliness. High on the top, there would be the stubbornness and the adrenaline addiction. If a card collapsed, the entire house went down.

Adrenaline was a big part of her live. She mastered self-defence, boxing, kickboxing and mixed martial arts. And, of course, the combat training she received in the Army. She tried to run an hour a day, spent her share of time at the shooting range, still practicing the sniper rifle. She often wondered where she found the time to do all the things she did – that included the endless rows of books she read, the movies she watched, the music she listened and the work she got done off-duty. Then again, she did suffer from Circadian rhythm sleep disorder called 'Free-running sleep' or Non-24-hour sleep-wake syndrome', which meant that her body refused to believe there were only twenty-four hours in a day, causing her to be deprived from sleep for sometimes an entire week. She could work all night without being actually tired or feeling the need to sleep, for days. At some point, her body would suddenly feel tired and she would sleep for a day. After that, the cycle went back on and it all started over again. At first, she reckoned it came in quite handy. She would have all the time to study, read, work, train, ready some more, study some more, work some more. But, as always, the pattern became boring and she occasionally found herself just staring out her window. Sometimes, she would sleep a couple of hours a night, thinking that she finally overpowered the disorder. But then along came a new case, one that ate her attention and she lost her will to force herself to sleep, on rare occasions even trying with pills.

Abby admitted years ago that she was in fact an adrenaline junkie and it wasn't without a reason. A couple of blocks down the hotel, something had been blown up. Abby suspected it was another school, another target, their UnSub working, like her, in the late hours of the night. About five seconds had passed since they heard the blast and Abby already found herself looking out the window, the blankets forgotten on Morgan's bed, her shoes still too tight around her feet. She could see people running away from the site in their direction. Her mind pulled up a map of Boston and the area of 100 Stuart street and remembered that there was a university just down the road. As she ran towards the door and pulled it open with force, she recalled telling Reid and Morgan to call nine-one-one and to alert the rest of the team.

She flew down the flight of stairs, cutting one corner after the next. Abby finally saw the big zero looming up on the stainless white walls, registered the steps behind her and opened the door. The receptionists had gathered around the entrance and dared to glance through the large glass doors. Once they heard Abby and Morgan running towards them, they quickly made way.

"Did you call nine-one-one?"

One of the male W. Hotel workers nodded feverishly.

"Good, stay inside, keep the doors closed but do not lock them, you hear me?"

She swiftly exited the hotel as she yelled at the personnel and was greeted by an arctic force she couldn't dream of. A brick wall of coldness crashed right into her body but the adrenaline that pumped through her veins like a poisonous drug quickly erased the realisation of the cutting wind and frost. Abby ran down the street, sensing Morgan's presence close behind. From where she was, she could already see some of the damage; cars and busses had stopped in the middle of the road, thick and black clouds rose from the site, slowly masking the yellow glow in the sky. When she got closer, the crowd that came right ahead grew and she started directing people to the other side of the street. She finally turned the corner and immediately noticed the flames through the broken windows on the ground floor and the smoke that came through it. However, she didn't see anyone coming out, a small group that seemed injured sat on the pavement opposite of the building, and she figured – hoped – everybody got out safely.

She made her way to the ten people that had sat down on the street, some holding heads and arms, others helping them out.

"Scott."

She turned and felt Morgan's hand on her arm.

"Fire department is on its way," – now she finally heard the sirens – "looks like the fire is on the ground floor only."

"I think everyone's out, I haven't seen anybody coming out at least, but there's a group of people there that seem injured."

"Listen, we need to keep people away from the building. Do you know what school this is?"

Flashes, partial conversations, high pitched peeps, a blur, there! Destination.

"Tuft's University. Health Science."

"Okay, so more things can explode."

"I don't think so. Ground floor, far North corner, I'd say supply closet of some sorts. Perhaps the janitor's office. You alert FD, I'm gonna check on those kids."

"Yeah. Hé, careful though. You never know."

"I'll be fine. Go."

It took her fifteen minutes to get the students to calm down, or at least calm enough to inform Abby that they were walking past the building, just exited the school to go for a drink when the explosion occurred. As far as they knew there were no lights on, indicating that there was no one else in the building. Whilst she kept pressure on one of the girls' head wounds and after improvising-ly bandaging a leg wound, she couldn't help but think that once again, their profile was dead on. They needed to narrow it down to an approximated age range and they would have him. More glass broke and flew around in the air and there was another loud bang as the fire must have consumed something flammable, causing a minor explosion to take place next to the room where it appeared to have started. Quickly, she ducked in front of the students, protecting them and shielding them with her body like the Army had taught her.

"C'mon kiddo's, let's get you out of here. You, help him walk. Let's go."

---

Wednesday.

00.33

Two hours, be-blooded clothes and a constant peep in her ear from the screams and shouts later, Abby sat on the edge of the pavement, watching the fire department making its way through the damaged wing of Tuft's University's Health Sciences building. She wasn't even feeling that cold, the white clouds before her mouth told her it was in fact freezing, and her nose was running. Her hands were covered in blood and to keep the blood-exposure to a limit, she decided against rubbing the back of her hand under her nose. So, instead, she maintained to be annoyed by the water running down her nose and the idea that whilst they were closing in, their UnSub just proved he was still ahead of them.

"You okay?"

Startled, Abby looked up and found none other than detective Mitchell Hayley standing next to her, holding a blanket.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

He smiled kindly and sweetly as he handed her the dark grey, wool-like blanket.

"Thanks."

"Figured you'd be cold. You've been sitting there for the past ten minutes."

"I have?"

"Yeah. You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I was just thinking."

Just as Abby was about to drape the coating around her shoulders, she winched upon feeling a sharp pain in her shoulder. She looked over her shoulder to what it was, Hayley following her movements, and hissed when she saw a tiny piece of glass sticking from her shoulder. Hayley rushed to hover over her to take care of her.

"It's a piece of glass. C'mon pretty lady, I'll take you to one of the ambulances."

She made sure he couldn't see her roll her eyes ('Of course. Why not? Let's make Frankie once again a injury-attracting super-magnet.') and lifted herself from the frigid stones, ignoring his helping hand. They made their way through the chaos and unintentionally, Abby's eyes sought the images of her team members.

"Have you interviewed the crowd yet? Any witnesses?"

"Actually, yeah. My partner talked to two girls on campus, they claimed to have seen a young male walking through the hallway in the direction of where the bomb probably exploded."

"Did they get a good look?"

"They're with a sketch artist, they were pretty shaken up. One of their friends took a few shrapnel to the head, but I'm sure we'll come up with a decent look on the guy."

"Finally."

"Right."

There he was, her knight in shining armour.

"Hotch!"

He stood ten feet away, talking to who she assumed was the captain of the fire department. Hotch instantly reacted to Abby's call and he turned to meet her. Once his eyes found her, he rotated back to the captain and said his goodbyes.

"Scott, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Piece of glass from the second explosion. What have we got?"

"No dead, couple of minor injuries. The bomb was placed in the janitors office. Most of the damage has been done to the floor directly above it, a small research library."

"Boston PD found two witnesses."

Hotch' strong and piercing glare was immediately directed towards the detective next to her.

"My partner, Callum, she's with the girls now. They're with a sketch artist. From what they're saying, they got a pretty good look."

"That's good. Let me know the moment you have that sketch. Scott, get yourself checked out."

"Yes sir, I was on my way."

Abby slipped between the two men, heading towards the ambulance. Hayley was asked more questions by Hotch and, knowing her supervisor, he probably gave him a list of things to do.

The male paramedic was friendly and he offered to take the glass out and bandage it on the scene so Abby wouldn't have to go to a hospital. As he tore apart her blouse, she snorted at the thought of another set of clothes ruined. The scenery before her had begun to unfold and slowly, peace and rest returned. The sky was still brighter than usual and faint grey clouds kept coming from the building. Fire department had put the fire out, but the remains were still smothering. Police officers and fire fighters walked around scattered and the whole combination of events and presences forced memories to be recalled by her mind. Gloomy and dimly, her eyes followed the episode, her brain not wanting to work.

Thick, hovering smoke tightened her airway. Ash floated in the air as confetti at a party. Rubble spread around the streets, streets that were covered in a thin, veneer layer of dust. The red and blue lights of squad cars, ambulances and fire trucks casted a sinister look on the whole display of action. The paramedic broke into her thoughts, disrupted them and scared them away as he handed her a wet cloth and pointed at her hands with a pleasant smile. She thanked him and absentmindedly begun to wash and erase the blood of her hands.

"Scott."

The voice that called out was a mere echo, one that came along with the sound of disciplined conversations, shouts, people walking around.

"Scott? Abby?"

She turned her head sharply upon feeling the hand on her shoulder. She blinked several times, the dust had caused her eyes to dry, and recognised Rossi's rough features.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just, zoned out."

She shortly glanced at the site again and then focussed back on the older agent.

"What's up?"

"What happened?"

"Reid and I were in Morgan's room, both testing out some theories about the case when we heard the explosion. I ran downstairs, asked hotel employees if they called nine-one-one and told them to stay inside, keep the doors closed but not locked. When I arrived at the scene, the building was on fire, people were running and screaming. Morgan was with me, I noticed a couple of kids sitting opposite of the building and helped them as Morgan started clearing the scene. There was a second, minor explosion and I got the kids off the street. By then, PD and FD arrived, along with you guys. I stayed with one of the students and now I'm here."

He nodded weakly and his eyes studied her face.

"I meant with you."

Rossi glanced around her shoulder to eye her back and the paramedic that was applying a gaze on the wound.

"Oh, that. Piece of glass from the second explosion."

"That's so like you, always the attention seeker."

Both agents smiled and Rossi patted her knee before leaving, just as Morgan arrived.

"Need some help Scott?"

Abby's smile faltered and she shook her head.

"I should have called nine-one-one."

"But that wouldn't be as much fun."

Derek leant against the bus and watched the paramedic adding the finishing touch.

"Meh, true."

"You okay?"

"I attract people that push other people through windows and shrapnel from exploding pipe bombs."

"Don't worry m'am, just a piece of glass. It's a clean gash. Should heal within a couple of days."

She nodded a couple of times in the paramedics direction.

"See? I'll live. Hé, guess what?"

"What?"

"FD confirmed, it was the janitors office. I'm telling you Morgan, student."

The heady agent snorted and his lips were once again pulled up into a smile. He made way for the paramedic that exited the ambulance bus before again smiling friendly at Abby and probably went in search of his partner.

"I heard we got a couple of witnesses."

"Yeah, PD is with them with a sketch artist."

"Want me to leave?"

"Why?"

Her head turned abruptly and she watched the man next to her. He signalled with his head in Hayley's direction, the detective was approaching them with big, long steps and confidence heavy on his shoulders.

"Prince Charming is making his way over here."

"Nothing gets past you, huh?"

"Nope."

Abby stepped down from the ambulance and grabbed her vest, leaning towards Morgan.

"Then you should have caught up on the nine-one-one remark."

"Hey."

Hayley had reached the two agents and he sized Morgan up at the exact time Morgan eyed the Boston PD detective like a lion that could sink his teeth into his dinner any second.

"Hey." – She pointed in Morgan's direction – "SSA Derek Morgan."

"We've met, briefly."

He finally tore his gaze from the taller and more muscular dark man and his eyes quickly absorbed Abby's image.

"You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine."

"We should get going, Hotch needs us."

"Yeah." – Abby turned to the deep-gorgeous detective – "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Abby and Morgan swiftly walked away, hoping they would run into Hotch soon, whom would sanguinely give them something to do.

"Smooth, Morgan. Real smooth."

"I have two sisters."

His comment caused her to laugh, an enliven, shadow-less, vigorous chuckle that reverberated throughout the street. He smiled himself and the silently went in search of Hotch.

"C'mon, let's get this over with. I'm in the serious mood for some chicken."

---

Thursday.

08.45

The day had ended late, Abby didn't see the inside of her oddly designed, but strangely comforting and peaceful suit until three A.M. She skipped sleep, she wasn't in the mood to put herself to sleep for a few wasted hours. Instead, she stayed up and watched the city from her window. Deep down, she knew she was secretly afraid of the nightmares that would surface from her unconscious. She wasn't in the mood for that. Her wake mind gave her enough to think about and be troubled; she didn't need any more problems. They would release their profile today and hopefully Garcia would come up with any leads. The sketch the two campus girls had given was alright, but it probably wasn't enough to actually work with it. Around seven, her cell phone had buzzed with more thoughts to ponder and ruminated about; three more pictures, morbid and peril. Abby hadn't called Miles, the images were too private. She had another hour of chewing on her lips and smoking cigarettes before Reid knocked on her door to go with her to the police station.

Settled down with their mugs in front of them as black, steamy shields, they grouped in the area that had been assigned for their case and the team's clockwork rapidly started working again. Both Reid and Abby had explained their theories which were accepted into the team and quickly considered. She had been a little reluctant to explain her thesis. Abby considered herself the newbie and 'rookie' still and she wasn't sure how the rest, the veterans, would see it. Back in Atlanta, she didn't hesitate to speak her mind, but the subject was nevertheless a little sensitive.

"Wait a minute."

Morgan bent forward, his hands held a picture. All mouths closed and eyed were appointed to Morgan's feature. Studiously, Abby look at him and spotted the thinking lines on his forehead.

"Scott, look at this."

"What?"

She leant forward to see the picture clearer. The image in question was a crime scene photo from Emerson College. She glanced at the agent, lust carefully arising.

"Look at the point of origin."

"It's not in the corner."

Morgan grabbed the last picture shot at the party and gave it to her, pointing with his finger at the table that carried the huge cake.

"That table was moved."

"Which was probably the reason why people got injured and killed. They moved the table, the bomb was placed underneath it."

"Guys."

Everybody had been so focussed on Morgan and his discovery, they missed the part where Prentiss frantically started searching through the paperwork. Now, all eyes were on her.

"The note he send, it was an apology, sort of. What if he didn't know that there was going to be a party? The ceremony room that was targeted was of high importance to the school, right?"

Morgan and Abby nodded, not following until Prentiss tossed a copy of the school's agenda on the table, on top of the autopsy reports, crime scene photo's, reports and written investigations.

"What if the UnSub didn't know there was going to be a party?"

"There were no flyers. Someone who walked through the school wouldn't have known."

"Because it was a reunion. Nobody needed to know because they weren't invited anyway."

Hotch finished the conclusion and Morgan already grabbed his cell phone to inform Garcia she didn't have to focus on Emerson College.

"It was just another random place."

---

Thursday.

09.05

Hotch, Rossi and Morgan stood before the small crowd that had gathered inside the PD. As they addressed the officers and detectives, JJ stood outside, her pretty face on several different network stations.

"The UnSub we're looking for is a young man, between twenty and twenty-five and Catholic raised. He is or was a science student at a college or university here in Boston. He's smart, intelligent. The UnSub is a narcissist with possible psychopathic characteristics, but he's not disorientated. He is highly non-confrontational, he apologises easily and often, even when it is not his fault."

"Despite his lack of social and interpersonal skills, he blends in. The UnSub may be a little paranoid, but he reads the papers, follows the news. He is not dislodged of the world. He is a making a statement, he wants to be heard and seen, but nobody does. Nobody notices him in the way that he feels he deserves. He's arrogant and suffers from a God-complex."

Morgan and Prentiss took over, standing up as the spoke towards the group.

"The UnSub is an outside, a loner. He wants to be a leader, but his social and occupational failures caused a cognitive behavioural isolation. He uses pipe bombs. He's neat, organised and puts a lot of time and effort in his bombs. Pipe bombs are not designed to kill. The reason why he chose TNT is because we believe that he is trying to make a statement, and the way he sees it, blowing up buildings and damaging buildings with certain values is the only way for people to notice him. It's all about power and control."

"The reason why he started bombing could be the loss of a loved one. A family member, a girlfriend. As said, he's intelligent, school would mean everything to him. It is possible he was expelled or failed several classes. In his mind, he believes that it had been unjust, not right, he has a very black and white view on the world. Which could be the reason why he targets schools. He did not intent to kill the three victims with the Emerson College bombing."

"What makes you say that?"

Reid and Abby positioned themselves securely in the back, watching their team members give the profile to the hungry faces that were so ready to catch this guy. Abby kept quiet, observing the expressions before her, listening to the words. Her eyes found the gentle exterior of a young agent, eagerly eyeing the agents, writing everything down. Reid suddenly rose from his sitting position and answered the question that several officers asked in their heads.

"The note he send clearly indicates that he is greeting us, letting us know we're here. He's watching, he's arrogant and he's confident that this is the right way. Yet he doesn't stay to watch. It could be because the places he bombed so far, have no emotional ties to the UnSub. It could also be that he is not interested in the bombing themselves, but in the result they bring. In his note, he quotes 'evil communications corrupt good manners'. With good manners, he means the three people that were killed. He didn't want that, he merely wants to be heard, make his statement and let the world know of his pain and suffering."

"But the most important part is that he isn't going to stop until he's caught. Keep your eyes open, someone knows our UnSub, talk to people, communicate with students and schools. He's out there somewhere."

Hotch' words were feverishly received, some police officers lowered their eyes and some their heads, others glanced in each other's directions, their eyes meaningful.

JJ had set up a tip line with detective Hayley and during the morning, the constant ringing of phones ousted her from the police department into the frigid cold and the harming wind with a shivering cigarette between her shaking hands. The doors opened and a faint warm breeze made it all the way to Abby's face. Though she wasn't even halfway through her cigarette, she thought about returning back inside when a female, short, Hispanic police officer approached her. She had been the one that had opened the doors and in her hand, she held a large brown envelope.

"Excuse me, agent Scott?"

Abby turned towards the woman, confirming her identity, curious about the woman's interest.

"This was delivered for you earlier."

"Oh, thanks."

She smiled at the officer whom quickly sought comfort back in the warm police station. Placing the cigarette between her lips, Abby's freezing fingers clumsily opened the envelope. Upon seeing the content, her insides turned into ice. She managed to hastily take the cigarette from her lips before it would fall on the ground as her mouth opened in shock and a disguised sense of peril fear. She flipped through the stack of photographs, shortly looking at the pictures only to imprint it onto her brain. Then she put the ten, eleven stills back in the envelope and sucked on her cigarette, not ever again thinking about put it out and going back in. Instead, she stayed outside for another fifteen minutes, smoking three more cigarettes. When her throat and lips got dry, she recollected herself, shook the heavy weight on her shoulders of her like it was nothing, caging the thoughts that had been running and raging freely through her mind.

As she entered the station, still off- and absentminded, JJ called out to her after sticking her head through the door opening.

"Scott, just in time, we may have a suspect."

It took her a few seconds to process but then her legs moved rapidly and she paced towards the room. The team had gathered around the laptop that was sitting on the main table and she heard Garcia's voice from the speakers.

"Okay, Johnatan Sparks. His last name is kinda ironic."

"Garcia, can you find him?"

"Got him. Johnatan William Sparks, he is twenty-three, went to St. Edwards and after that Boston Latin. He graduated cum laude and was accepted into Boston University where he studied Chemistry. Oh no.."

"What is it Garcia?"

"His mother died during nine/eleven. Wait, it gets even worse, he was expelled three weeks ago for possession of drug. Boston University was given an anonymous tip that they would find drugs in his locker. Security indeed found a hundred gram of XTC. Sparks claims to be innocent and that he was set-up but they didn't believe him."

"Do you have an address?"

"Of course I do, fearless leader. Norway street, apartment one-fifteen."

"Hotch."

Prentiss halted the group in their movement and she looked at her supervisor.

"He probably already planted a new bomb. We need some sort of leverage to tell him where he placed the next bomb."

"Prentiss is right. You go, I'll stay."

She wasn't one to miss out on the action, hence Hotch glared in Abby's direction studiously. She waved his expression away and motioned for them to go.

"I can read faster than Reid, just go. No offense, Genius."

He smiled shortly at her before disappearing as he followed the rest out the room, out of the PD, into their cars and on their way to John Sparks.

"I guess it's just me and you, chica."

"Supongo que sí. Vamos a hacer esto."

"What?"

"Never mind, talk me through Garcia."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"Okay. I'm sending the police reports to you know."

"What does his father do?"

"He's a... Defence attorney."

"Ouch. That must hurt."

"The arrest ruined his entire future."

"Sometimes, there is some logic in why they do it."

The faxing machine beeped and started spurting out paper. Abby made her way to the machine and her eyes scanned the information like she had done minutes earlier.

"Oh, listen to this."

She looked up from the piece of paper and walked back to the laptop. Garcia waited for her to reappear in her computer screen again before talking.

"He wrote a manifest a month ago about bombs and school safety."

"I'm gonna need that."

"It's on its way, darling."

Abby bit her lip. Her hands were shaking. A red blur appeared before her eyes. An unbelievable unset of anger and rage overtook her body and she fought hard against it.

"Garcia."

"Yeah."

"Don't call me that anymore."

She managed to keep her voice light and normal but avoided any eye contact.

"Sorry. Hé, are you bleeding?"

Abby had shaken her head once and raised a hand, signing to Garcia it was okay. When the tech worriedly leant forward to look at the screen better, Abby touched the liquid she felt slowly running down her chin.

"Damn it."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I bit my lip earlier."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Thanks Garcia."

Abby made it to the bathroom without anybody noticing the small stream of blood that wet her hands and chin. Once inside, she locked the door and inspected her lip. When she bit down, she must have sunk her teeth into the flesh, creating two small wounds and causing it to bleed. It was nothing big though and after a couple of minutes, she found herself back in the room, drinking water from a bottle and reading Spark's manifest.

Fifteen minutes after they left, the team came back. Hotch and Morgan up front, in-between the suave agent and detective Hayley, the rather pitiful feature of Johnatan Sparks. He looked younger than his age, thick black hair and hell blue eyes, deity. His skin pallid, almost paler than Abby's, and being a Native Brit, that said a lot. Sparks' hands were cuffed behind his back, slouching a little as he walked, his shoulders pushed forward, head low. It really was a pitiful sight. He didn't look like you're typical bomber. For a brief moment, Abby wondered if they had caught the right guy but erased that thought the second his raised head to look at the direction they were going and they met Abby's stare. His eyes spit fire, he was furious, a caged lion and he wanted to get out. Desperately.

It was him alright.

---

"_The god on the cross is a curse on life, a signpost to seek redemption from life; Dionysus cut to pieces is a promise of life: it will be eternally reborn and return again from __destruction__"_

Friedrich Nietzsche


	5. The night is not as same as the day

"_I know the night is not the same as the day: that all things are different, that the things of the night cannot be explained in the day, because they do not then exist, and the night can be a dreadful time for lonely people once their loneliness has started."_

Ernest Hemingway

---

Thursday.

09.13

The team had already gathered in the observation room, watching with studious eyes, observing the young man on the other side of the glass. Abby walked in with his manifest in her hands, ready to talk and be all-knowingly but changed her mind when she stepped into the sober and austere feeling room. She glanced around, yet all eyes were focused on the bomber they just caught. She coughed, softly and feeble, not wanting to startle them or interrupted rudely. JJ noticed her presence and noticed Abby's confused mien.

"After we caught him, he said there were two more bombs."

"What? Two?"

Morgan turned partially and briefly looked at her.

"I'm guessing he didn't tell you where there are, right?"

Now six pairs of eyes were turned towards her and she felt instantly stupid.

"Sorry. You guys are making me nervous. So, why aren't we doing anything?"

"If we step in now, he had the upper hand. We need more information to dominate him."

"Do we have any idea where the next bomb is?"

JJ's voice was desperate and she threw her hands in the air when Prentiss answered.

"How about anywhere?"

"That's bad, right?"

She couldn't help it. In tense situations, Abby's sarcastic part of her brain was activated and she had to be annoying.

"Really bad."

"Did you find anything else?"

Rossi had his arms crossed in front of his chest and his eyes found the image sitting behind the table in the room next door again.

"Yeah. His father is a D.A., he refused to help out his son, though. That must have been the final blow. When he returned to Boston University to pick up his things, he stole everything he needed to make the first two bombs. He had help with the last ones. A kid, Bright Langdale, he already came forward. Sparks told him he was working on an experiment, asked him to bring several things, among which, the supplies he needed to built more bombs. Langdale could have known, but I doubt it. Sparks covered his tracks. And he wrote a manifest about a month ago, I read it. It's about bombings and schools in an area such as Boston. After Virginia Tech, a few things changed, but he believed they needed more protection and security. He even talked about bulletproof shields like screens before the windows, turning it into some sort of bunker. An entire system would have to be created so, and I quote, 'The school in question would be able to protect its students from any kind of attack; foreign and domestic'."

"He feels as if the world is against him and people's actions against him are unjust and radical, that they mistreated him. He's arrogant. Scott, you've read the manifest, do you know what you need to get him to talk?"

A cold hand slowly crept over her body and overwhelmed her. This morning, she took a big step by explaining a hypothesis, now she suddenly needed to _solve_ the case? Why her, why not Morgan or Reid? _'Because you read his manifest. You know how he thinks.'_ She knew she could do it, it wasn't that. She was hesitant because she wasn't sure what they would think of her interrogation tactics, she was scared that she might expose the real Abby Scott, the person she was with SCU and she wondered if they would still think of her the way they did now. Cal Lightman's voice suddenly echoed in her head, '_What happened to Monster?´. _Cal might have thought of the name as a cute pet name, he did know that it suited her well. White-hot confidence rolled over her body likes waves crashing down onto the shore and she mentally nodded firmly at herself.

"Depends on your acting skills, really."

He looked at her. Eye contact established. The was a brief moment of understanding and Hotch bobbed his head.

"Let's go. Morgan, knock on the door after five minutes, make sure he can see you when I come out."

Abby followed Hotch into the room, making herself smaller than usual, constantly eyeing Hotch. She closed the door as he sat down in front of their suspect and she quickly sat next to him, handing him the file.

"Mister Sparks, my name is agent Hotchner, I'm with the FBI. We have some questions for you."

Soundlessly, she crossed on arm before her chest and with the other pressed a finger against her lips.

"You confessed to placing two more bombs. I want to know where they are."

"Or do you not know that the Unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God?"

"Mister Sparks, you killed three innocent people with one of your bombs. Tell us where the bombs are and we'll tell the DA that you cooperated."

Abby did her best to remain silent and be the little follower, but she couldn't help to squint slightly as her eyes watched Sparks' expressions. He looked down for a split second when the three victims were mentioned, the corners of his mouth going downwards. When Hotch talked about 'the DA', she noticed the flash of disgust and anger on his face. She leant forward and placed her elbows on the table.

"Listen, mister Sparks-"

She abruptly stopped talking when Hotch shot her a glare and cleared his throat. Abby looked away, immediately removing her elbows from the table yet she managed to register the movements in his facial muscles.

"Where are the bombs, mister Sparks?"

"For I verily, absent in body, but present in spirit, have judged already, as though I were present, concerning him that hath so done this deed."

"Tell me where to bombs are!"

Hotch slammed his hand onto the table and yelled at the smug face that sat across the table. He was about to lose it when there was knock on the door. He stood up, glaring angrily at Sparks and opened the door. Abby heard Morgan's whispers and Hotch stepped out of the interrogation room and closed the room. She pulled at her lower lip and seemed uneasy.

"Is that your boss?"

"Uhm. Yeah."

"I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears."

"Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered in shame."

She finished his sentence and smiled weakly at his surprised expression.

"You know your Bible."

Abby only shrugged.

"Are you with the FBI as well?"

"Yeah. Almost eight years now."

"Eight years and you let your boss talk to you like that?"

"Trust me" – Abby snorted – "this is his good day. He's usually worse, swearing and cursing, calling others name's. He's a sadistic prick really."

"You shouldn't listen to him."

"Don't worry, he'll get what he deserves pretty soon, trust me. We all get what we deserve in the end, because we're blind. Blind as a bat for the threat that comes from the outside. My boss, he's as blind as a bat."

"Ask, and it shall be given you; seek; and you shall find; knock and it shall be opened unto you. For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened."

"Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets."

Both of them quoted the Bible to justify her words and future actions. Abby was pushing him gently into the direction she wanted him to go and he walked into her trap like a blind man. She smiled at him again and he returned it, seizing her up.

"Can I ask you something?"

Abby leant down on the table with her arms and pretended to be highly curious. He nodded.

"Why did you do it?"

"Alas! They had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth, And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny, and youth is vain; And to be wrothe with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain."

"To whom did the drugs belong?"

"Freddy Dale. He made the anonymous call."

"Why didn't you tell the police that?"

"I did. They didn't believe me."

"Well, what about your parents?"

There was a short interlude and Abby immediately recognised the scorn that appeared on his face briefly. 'Almost there, almost there!'

"My father," – he paused – "he didn't believe me either."

"That must suck."

"And you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free."

Bingo.

"The truth? You wanna know the truth? Truth is you built six bombs, four of which already detonated. There are two more and you are going to tell me where. Truth. 'Be ye angry, and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your wrath: neither give place to the devil.' Truth. You killed three innocent people, you're just as plain and ordinary as all those other murderers I caught. Wanna know something about the truth? What happened to 'Thou shall not kill'?"

"God works in mysterious way."

"No he doesn't. That sentence was created to justify the acts of Catholics. Just like the end justifies the means, right? But that's not why you did it."

"It's not?"

Johnatan Sparks tried to keep him composure, keep his act and his cool, but Abby could tell she was quickly getting under his skin for she was coming down on him hard. Sweat on his forehead, his eyes darted over her face, he squinted several times, the cuffs under the table rattled. She was getting through to him.

"I think you did it because you got hard. You liked it."

"No! That is a sin! My father is a jerk, he should be punished, he's a sinner! He turned his back on me, he's a sinner. And those teachers at the University are so stupid, they believed a fool's word over mine, how could they be so simple minded? I deserved to be at the BU!"

The satisfied smirk on her face must have alerted him and he realised what he had done. His red face fell and he sat back down in his chair, breathing heavily. Abby had backed up the moment he started screaming and jumped up from his chair and now moved back towards him.

"You know, John, 'And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper'."

Now it was her turn to rise from her chair and she quickly exited the room. Hotch and Rossi already waited for her outside of the interrogation room and the moment she closed the door, Rossi handed her a vest and they headed out.

"Morgan already took Prentiss, Reid and JJ to his father's house."

"Nice work Rossi."

She petted him playfully on the back, referring to the fact that Rossi figured out the location of one of the bombs before Sparks actually said it.

---

Thursday.

9.38

Boston University's department for arts and science was a tall, high building. The area and the air around it was squeaky clean, tidy, neat, next to every bench and the entrance doors a trash can. Vertical, long rows of glass decorated the front part of the edifice, covering at least three floors. The scene was natural, green, calm. The building itself, bleak ecru stones, a red banner hanging from the second floor, had a classic, graceful and royal state around itself. During the car ride, Rossi already talked to the dean and ordered him to evacuate the building immediately. As Hotch pulled the car to a tire screeching stop in front of the building, the three agents jumped out. Boston police squad cars followed close behind, officers setting up a perimeter and closing down the street.

Hotch, Rossi and Abby hurried up the short seven-steps flight of stairs and yelled for students to get out of their way. Behind them, four officers ran after them. Rossi asked told them to get all the students safe and away from the building and keep it cleared. Once inside in the main corridor, three security agents met them halfway through the hall.

"What our status?"

"Most of the students aren't out of the building yet. We have security agents at every exit to direct the students. We've cleared the basement and first floor, we were just starting to move to the second when you guys came."

"Anyone know how to defuse a pipe bomb?"

The three security men looked at Rossi shocked, how the hell should they know?

"I do."

Abby shrugged when they looked at her.

"I asked Morgan. He said cut the blue wire."

"Okay, we split up in pairs, we each take a section on a floor. Do you have any extra radios?"

"Yeah, Bill."

'Bill' the security guy grabbed three radios from a bag hanging from his belt. Abby looked at him when she noticed it were three.

"We knew you were coming. We came prepared."

"Good work guys."

Hotch patted the spokesman of the three on the shoulder once.

"Let's go."

---

Thursday.

09.51

Abby paired up with Bill and took the eastern part of the building, scanning every room, bin, bathroom and supply room. They had reached the third floor by now but came up with zip. She wiped some moisture of her forehead and suddenly noticed she wasn't wearing her nice, soft, warm coat and figured she must have forgotten it. She wondered briefly why she thought about the subject as she cleared yet another room and move on to the next. Her heart was beating fast and rapidly, thumping in her chest and shaking her bones. Her eyes flashed around rooms, quick, sharp and shrewd as adrenaline made her ran to the next. She felt as if she was chasing a ghost, as shadow, running after the light of a firehouse. They had no idea how much time was left and they hadn't heard from Morgan yet.

As if on cue, the radio crackled static and she heard Hotch's voice from the mobile device.

"Prentiss called, they found the bomb, everybody is okay."

There was a pause and Abby felt her stomach tighten as she realised he wasn't going to bring them good news.

"They had less than ten minutes on the clock. Which means we have about eight, maybe nine minutes."

"Hotch, we still don't know where this bomb it. If we can't find it on time, we have to call it."

"Copy that."

Abby wanted to open a door of cleaning products and froze on her spot when the door wouldn't budge. It was locked. She whistled at Bill and he threw her the set of keys.

"Okay, five more minutes and then we have to leave. Has the building been evacuated yet?"

Harry, the spokesmen of the security crew, talked to them through the radio.

"Yeah, it has."

She figured that it was at least one less thing to worry about and fumbled with the keys. She had no idea which key to use and after several attempts, she gave up. She took a step back, found a spot on the door and kicked it in. The door flew open and she used her flashlight to find what she was looking for. In the corner, she noticed a carbon box and she raced towards it whilst thinking it was weird she would find the bomb in a supply closet. Nothing worth of any pride or value or even glory was around, so why here? As she pushed the flaps away she revealed yellow cleaning gloves and she cursed. They had been running around like madmen for several minutes, her legs were shaking in exhaustion and they had about three floors left to secure.

"Harry."

"Yeah?"

"I need you to think, think very hard, okay?"

"Okay."

"Stop running, take a good, deep breath and think. What is this school known for? Is there anything of high importance? A statue, a special classroom, a ceremony room, anything?"

Why again hadn't they thought about this earlier?

"There is the teachers room on the first floor and the dean's room due north."

"That's it, the teacher's room."

Hotch's voice was stressed. He sounded out of breath and tensed.

"Hotch, are you sure?"

"If it's not, we'll have to leave anyway. Sparks said 'those teachers'."

"Teacher's room is northern wing, second floor."

Abby was about to run back towards the stair case, ruminating why the things that they needed the quickest were always in places you looked last, when she saw Bill from the corner of her eye. His face red and he was breathing heavily, leaning with one hand against the wall.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Astma."

"Okay, listen to me, you're gonna come with me, I'll take you to the staircase, can you make it outside on your own?"

Bill nodded and pulled his inhaler from his jacket, inhaling deeply after he placed the small device against his mouth and pushed down.

She guided Bill to the stair case, glancing at her watch as she opened the door. They only had five minutes left. Maybe even less. The redheaded security man must have seen her look because he told her to go. She sent him a questioning look and he pushed her in the right direction, telling her he would be fine. Abby nodded her head once, spun around on her feet and jumped down the stairs, using her hand to turn the corner and jumped down again. Within seconds, she had reached the second floor and used her bodyweight to open to door as she crashed into the obstacle. She stood in the middle of the corridor and had to orientate to know in which direction she needed to go.

Turning sharply, the shoes squealed underneath her on the smooth floor. Through a set of double leave and acting green doors (matching the paint used in the halls on this floor), she spotted Hotch and Harry. Again, her eyes sought the hands on her watch and she ran as fast as she could whilst grabbing the radio.

"Rossi? Rossi?!"

"Scott."

"Where are you?"

"First floor, southern section."

"Get out."

"What?"

"I'm with Hotch, get out."

There was a silence, why? What was he doing, they didn't have time, he needed to get the heck out.

"Guys, we have students, I repeat, there are still students in the building! They're in the library on the Southern wing."

So that was what he was doing. How on earth could this all go so terribly wrong? All students were told to exit the building, how could they be so stupid? And how much time was left? A minute? More? Less? Seconds? She lost track, the world was spinning too fast. Voices came cracking from the speaker in the radio, but they wouldn't reach her mind. She was running, she was running so fast. Were they too late?

"Hotch!"

---

"_Disturb us, Lord, when we are too well pleased with ourselves, when our dreams have come true because we have dreamed too little, when we arrived safely because we sailed too close to the shore."_

Sir Francis Drake


	6. Do not be fooled

"_Who can hope to be safe? Who sufficiently cautious? Guard himself as he may, every moment's an ambush."_

Horace

---

_Turning sharply, the shoes squealed underneath her on the smooth floor. Through a set of double leave and acting green doors (matching the paint used in the halls on this floor), she spotted Hotch and Harry. Again, her eyes sought the hands on her watch and she ran as fast as she could whilst grabbing the radio._

"_Rossi? Rossi?!"_

"_Scott."_

"_Where are you?"_

"_First floor, southern section."_

"_Get out."_

"_What?"_

"_Only four minutes left, I'm with Hotch, get out." _

_There was a silence, why? What was he doing, they didn't have time, he needed to get the heck out._

"_Guys, we have students, I repeat, there are still students in the building! They're in the library on the Southern wing."_

_So that was what he was doing. How on earth could this all go so terribly wrong? All students were told to exit the building, how could they be so stupid? And how much time was left? A minute? More? Less? Seconds? She lost track, the world was spinning too fast. Voices came cracking from the speaker in the radio, but they wouldn't reach her mind. She was running, she was running so fast. Were they too late?_

"_Hotch!"_

He had been informed of her arrival over the radio and heard her approaching by the sound of her steps echoing vociferous, hollow and inimical through the corridor before her screaming voice reverberated between walls. She didn't slow down until she was a mere five feet away. By now, her breathing was even faster and she felt her chest tense whenever she took a breath. Perhaps she should stop smoking.

"Morgan is almost here." She was panting and with the sweet fury of adrenaline spreading across her body, it was hard to talk.

"Keep him outside, there's no time. Those kids need to get out." There was tension in Hotch's voice, which was, of course, purely understanding. Still, they were inside a University that was set to blow in an extremely short period of time. She couldn't do this on her own, she needed Hotch strong and steady like a solid, stone statue next to her, perhaps even guiding her through.

"They're working on it." Her voice was tensed too, thin and sharp in the air between breaths. How had they gotten themselves into this again? Both agents entered the room, their eyes immediately going through the room, Harry right behind them. Abby pushed away chairs to get to the wall and looked behind the curtains as Hotch opened a door on the right side of the entrance. Harry slipped into the small kitchen and noise came from the small space.

"I got it!"

Hotch and Abby rushed to his side. Harry had already made way for them and Abby kneeled down in front of the kitchen cabinet underneath the sink, Hotch sitting down next to her. "Fuck. Less than two minutes."

"Can you defuse it?" Neither of them answered Harry and instead, Abby took her bulletproof vest and black button front cardigan off, looking up at Hotch expectantly and anxious.

"Hotch-"

"I don't see a blue wire." Her abundant leader and supervisor hit the cabinet in anger before turning to Harry. "Get out of here."

"What about you guys?"

"He's my boss. If I kill him, his boss will have my ass and I'm a dead woman." She didn't hear anything whilst staring at the bomb and her mind racing towards a solution; hence she figured Harry must still be standing next to him, an addled and disconcerted expression on his sharp and keen face.

"Go, now." Hotch's stern glare met Abby's and his lips were pulled into a thin line. "You too Scott, get out."

"I'm not leaving you here. Harry, get out now or I will shoot you myself! Get! Rossi, are those kids out yet?"

The radio emerged some static noise before they heard him. "Negative, there are more students in the research lab, we're on our way now."

"Better hurry Rossi." There is was again. This thin, veneer sting of pressure, worry and a faint trace of fear. What were they doing?

The pipe bomb looked exactly like those on the pictures; the reconstructions. Except for the wiring, they were different of colour. Hotch clenched and unclenched his fist a few times and Abby stuck her head inside the cabinet. Harry had taken of right on time.

"Christ."

"What?"

"Hotch. He hooked it up to the gas pipe. If this thing blows, we're definitely dead. The blast will be bigger than the others. He definitely had a grudge against them. This is a bomb designed to kill."

"There are still students in the building, we'll have to try to defuse it. Are you sure you wanna stay?" Hotch's expression had regained its usual determination and firmness. His eyes were hard and adamant, but not expecting anything; serene and calm. Not burning.

"And leave you to be the hero, I don't think so." She joked and her face muscles were relaxed enough to move along and add body language to her words. That could be a good sign.

"Do you know how to defuse it, can you do that?"

"Hotch. I can do anything." – '_I'm Superwoman'_- "But I'm not sure if I have enough time. You know, you should really get yourself out of here, like, now." Fear in the form or tiny little claws, crawled up her belly and sides, tickling her were it not that her heart was beating alarmingly fast and stress was still thrust through her veins.

"You're not leaving so I'm not leaving."

"Hotch, I don't have any kids." As they argued, Abby pulled a Randall seven inch knife from its holster around her ankle, next to her backup gun, and handed it to Hotch. The handle and blade both pitch black for a reason; the enemy wouldn't see any reflection from the blade at night. She had chosen the blade for that purpose and that purpose only.

"I do, so we better do this right."

"Okay, okay." '_Think, Frankie, think!_'. She watched Hotch check the wires, made notes where they came from and where they were going. The red glow of the time burnt her eyes and she tried not to look at it too often. Four wires, white, black, red and green. They all went towards the timer and entered it in a particular order. One wire meant living, three meant death. Or, one meant death and two were bogus. She didn't know what made her feel worse.

"There's no blue wire, this one goes here, this one here. Red? Damn it, get Morgan on the phone."

"Fifty seconds." Abby alerted as she grabbed her phone and pressed the buttons. Fifty seconds wasn't enough to carefully pull the timer apart. They were running out of time and Hotchner made her nervous. If she did or said something wrong, she could kill them both. Why was he even here? What was he doing?

"Scott."

"Black and white view, so, black or white?"

"You better not be guessing Scott."

"Shut up. Look at the wires."

"He painted these wires himself, they're not their real colours."

"Black or white. Morgan? We have a problem."

"I got four wires, they are all going inside the timer. I can see that the last two are connected to one other wire, those are fake, but I don't know which one." Hotch raised his voice in order for Morgan to hear him and Abby quickly pressed the speaker button.

"Can you pull timer's cap off?"

"We got fifteen seconds, Morgan! Relaying on your expertise." She mumbled the last part to herself and cursed, wondering how exactly she had let this get this far.

"Hotch, can you move one of the two main wires? Careful, don't pull it out, just, move-"

"Oh, you have got to be _fucking_ kidding me!" Abby yelled as she threw the phone against the wall, the BlackBerry bouncing back on the floor. The connection had failed and the call had ended. Hotch slammed his hand against one of the cupboard's doors and he looked at Abby, whom was real scrupulously pulling at the two wires.

"I think the white wire is moving."

"White it is." Hotch decided.

"I'm not sure."

"Five seconds, yes or no."

Abby hesitated, her eyes widened and she stared at Hotch. The framed pictures in Hotch's room flashed before her eyes. She knew what it was like to grow up without a father present. Her father may have been alive during her childhood, he wasn't really her father. Kids needed fathers. She couldn't be responsible for Hotch's death, but if she did nothing, they would die anyway. She refused to be responsible for the death of a father, a man she respected nonetheless.

She refused to be responsible. For she had been responsible before and she never wanted to feel that again. She still remembered their names, their faces, their voices. Mark Blakely. Richard Smith. Lisa York. Susan Davids. Like with them, she hesitated. Like with them, she doubted herself. Like with them, she waited too long, too afraid to make a decision. Just like the time with her team. But the situation had been different, slightly. There was a hostage situation, a desperate man that had already killed five others, strapped a bomb around his waist and walked into a café. Her instincts and her head had both been saying two totally different things, contradicting each other, making a messy chaos of Abby's head. Pressure was freely and heavily placed on her shoulders and people would look at her, knowing that she would come to the right conclusion and create the perfect solution. She would be the hero and save the day. Twenty-three, one her way for her first day at the FBI, accidentally pushed into the middle of this situation; wrong place, wrong time. Her gut was wrong and they died. She lived, they died. It had been her fault. Just like September 26th.

But Hotch was there, by her side, calm and sweaty, strangely relaying on Abby to make the decision. She nodded, only once, and almost invisible. Black or white, take your pick. White? No. Was she sure? Yes. Black.

"Do it."

Abby exhaled boisterously and sank to the floor, leaning against the cabinet. Tension flushed away as if she took a shower and left her feeling extremely tired and as if she just ran a hundred miles. Next to her, Hotch did the same, rubbing his forehead in stress. Never before had she felt the need for a cigarette and she lit one. Hotch glanced in her direction but she didn't turn to meet his eyes. Instead, she stared at the light blue wall in front of her and closed her eyes. The moment she closed it, the vibrant, radiant zero, zero, zero, two loomed up from the darkness and she lifted her eyelids again in an attempt not be confronted with how close they came to meeting Death in person.

"I hate this job." Abby chuckled and finally glanced in Hotch' direction. He struggled to take his black jacket off to reveal large sweat stains underneath his arms. She took another pull from her cigarette and blew the smoke into the air.

"I need some coffee." She stated flatly, blowing out some smoke and she closed her eyes.

"Copy that." They locked eyes for a second and Abby followed his lead after Hotch started to get up. "C'mon, let's get out of this place."

---

Thursday.

18.59

_Hotch had made the sporadic decision to go out for lunch after they came out of the university like heroes. Students that had gathered on the other side of the street behind yellow tape applauded and cheered and the rest of the team greeted the two final members loudly and under a lot's of 'Oh my God's' and 'Thank God's'. After a long lunch, they had wrapped up their case at the police station where detective Hayley made his last and final move on Abby. She had politely blown him off by saying she was seeing someone. JJ stood next to her and she could tell that the liaison was trying hard not to laugh. When Hayley had left and closed the door, both women turned away from the window and chuckled freely._

_When all the work was done, Hotch had sent them to their hotel rooms to rest for an hour and they would meet each other again later on the day for a short dinner, before arriving at the airport at seven. For the first time, Abby could find actual rest in her 'Wonderful' suite and enjoyed the plush pillow-top mattress, 350-thread-count sheets, goose down comforter and pillows on her king-sized bed. The air was cool and her hotel room was quiet and serene. Reid had settled in one of the comfortable chairs with his chess board. They played a couple of games (Reid won, of course) before Abby plopped down onto her bed and drifted away._

_She had known her crazy days at the SCU. Kidnappings, serial killers striking the same minute they stood outside wondering where the heck he or she could be right now. She had chased suspects (Her record was forty-seven crashed cars in three years. Her personal best stood on two undercover cars and a squad car in one day) through busy and crowed streets, dodging cars and avoiding the people on the street or on bicycles. The rush it gave her was better than any drug and it made her limbs tingle. Today, however, had been totally different. Abby was suddenly aware of the fact that, despite what she liked to believe, she wasn't invincible. She had stared death in the eye numerous times; through the end of a barrel, with her body protecting as a bulletproof shield, her torso already hanging from the roof of a twenty-store building, the car was she in smashed together, keeping Abby inside and pinned down._

_She wasn't sure what abruptly made her realise that she wasn't Superman but she knew Hotch had his part in it. She remembered that before he cut the wire, she stared down into his deep, abyss-like eyes and felt his life hanging from her fingertips. Abby was a loner, she preferred to run down streets by herself, knowing that Miles, her partner, her backup, would wait for them at the end of the alley and not behind her. She was known to leave a trail of destruction hence she wanted people to meet her up front instead of running after her in the same direction. He had been sitting right next to her. She got angry, if only slightly, feeling her muscles tense despite their aching, when she heard him protest inside her head. He should have left. Why didn't he? He had a son, why did he stay? He wasn't as reckless as Abby, he couldn't be, he was a father. Or, perhaps, she knew the reason, but she chose to ignore it just like Justin O'Malley, just like she ignored the logic in her head that cost the lives of four people. Abby's head hurt as confusion set in and she rubbed her forehead._

_"Are you okay?"_

_She turned her head on the pillow and looked at Reid, whom never looked up at her, his eyes still fixed on the board game in front of him. "Yeah."_

_"You seem distraught. Like you have a lot on your mind."_

_"I almost got blown up today by a religious prick."_

_"No. It was already before that. Shortly before Garcia found our UnSub."_

_Abby remained silent. This caused Reid to glance at her, worried eyes and a bothered mien. "Genius, I'm fine. Really."_

_"I don't believe you."_

_"That's okay. I wouldn't either." His brows knitted together as he frowned. "I looked in the mirror before laying down."_

_Her comment made him smile gently and his face relaxed, but he kept the thin, veneer sheer of concern in his eyes._

_"Okay, I'm gonna kick your ass."_

_"Yeah, right."_

_She got up from the bed, groaning as her muscles protested against any movement. Abby made her way back to the chair she had been sitting in half an hour ago and she sat down._

_"Black or white?"_

_"Black. Definitely."_

_Reid and Abby exited the W. hotel, animatedly talking about the waterproof Hanky trick. The young genius had been close to desperate to perform his trick and use Abby to try it on, but she wouldn't believe that he was able to hold a glass of water upside down over her head without it coming down on her head. Prentiss, JJ and Rossi were already at the SVU's and loaded their go-bags into the trunk of the large black vehicle. The two geniuses laughed as they headed towards the cars. Suddenly, the feeling of slippery ice underneath her foot was reminiscent to earlier events and again, she felt her foot slipping away from underneath her and she fell backwards. Reid had grabbed her arm to help her stand, but that only resulted in the fact that he was dragged down and both agents laid on their backs in the snow, on the white-covered street in Boston._

_The three agents at the car heard the noise and Prentiss was the first to lay her eyes upon the scenery as her laugh echoed throughout the streets first, followed closely by JJ's chuckles and Rossi's amused snickers._

_"Fuck. That's twice. I hate snow."_

_"Ouch."_

_"You okay?"_

_"Yeah."_

_Morgan appeared hovering over their heads and he looked down on them. For a moment, his expression was blank, leaning towards curious. Then, his famous smirk crept around his lips and he laughed at them, shaking his head. Abby looked at Reid whom turn his face to look at her as well. Unspoken words, a strange, odd understand between their two great minds. Quickly, they turned on their sides, lifted themselves slightly and tackled the other agent as he yelled at them not to dare. The moment Morgan's body lay on the streets, Reid and Abby each grabbed a hand full of freshly fallen snow and pushed it into his face. She started laughing, freely and loudly and happily and heartily when she studied the scene and Morgan's rather pissed off face ("Oh, I am going to kick your asses."). Reid as well chuckled and scrambled away from Derek._

_The hotel's door opened and the sound caused Abby to look up and look right into the stern face of her supervisor. Morgan had, in his return, also grabbed some snow and put it in Abby's collar. She screamed at the arctic touch and got up. "Hotch. Sir. This really isn't what it looks like."_

_Morgan hastily got on his feet as well, but his mien remained calm and at ease._

_"It looks like fun. You're telling me it isn't? Because you were all laughing." For a moment, Hotch observed her like she was an experiment, the way Cal Lightman could look at her when trying to catch her on a lie (and fail miserably). She used her facial muscles to create an uptight face and raised her shoulders._

_"Wanna join?"_

_"No, thanks. But by all means, continue."_

_Hotch passed her by and as she rotated on her feet to follow him with his eyes, she noticed the entertained smile on Morgan's gentle face. Seconds later, she registered the snowball in his hands and her body was getting ready to run away when another white force met the side of her head and a second one shortly after, the one that came from Derek. ("Oi!") Glancing furiously into the direction it was coming from, she saw Hotch looking at her wickedly. Their supervisor had started a massive snowball fight and Prentiss and JJ quickly stepped in to have their share in throwing the snow. As Abby finally managed to grab a hand of snow without being jumped by Morgan or JJ, she raised her arm to throw it back at Hotch._

_"Hé! You cannot throw snowballs at your supervisor. I am your boss."_

_Abby considered her options and her expression remained blank until an evil grin spread across her fine, delicate face._

_"Scott. I will have your badge."_

_"I saved your ass today. Sir."_

Abby rested her head against the head rest and silently and solemnly watched the black sky from the airplane window, smirking as she ruminated about the earlier happenings and the look on Hotch's face when he realised she was definitely going to include him into their snowball fight. In about half an hour, the plane would land and they would be back in Quantico. Back onto their ground, on their territory. They would have the next day off and if it all went according the plan, they also had the weekend off. Thanksgiving was around the corner and all the agents hoped that they would be called.

"Hey."

Abby's eyes popped open and she smiled meekly at the figure standing before her, pushing the memories away, storing them somewhere deep in her mind where she could cherish, protect them and keep them safe. She stretched her arms in the air as Reid sat down opposite of her, studiously eyeing her, her movements and her face. She glanced at her surroundings and realised she was back in the airplane. She must have drifted off into a light sleep and her mind recalled the earlier events.

"No, I'm not going to play chess with you again."

"You're just annoyed that I beat you every time."

"Not, I'm not."

"Liar."

"For my mouth shall speak truth; and wickedness is an abomination to my lips."

"Thy tongue deviseth mischiefs; like a sharp razor, working deceitfully. Thou lovest evil more than good; and lying rather than to speak righteousness. Selah. Thou lovest all devouring words, O thou deceitful tongue."

Abby laughed shortly and her shining eyes met his. She tried to convince him of her words by keeping a small smile around her lips. In a short period of time, Reid and she had bonded, created a special friendship that covered so many levels, it sometimes gave her goose bumps. As she looked at him, his face partly hidden behind the book he read rapidly, she thought of the idea that she loved it. It had been a careful thought and it only surfaced for a minute before she buried it away in her deeply hidden Pandora's box. Yeah, she loved him. But she wasn't ready to recognise that yet, let alone think about it or say it out loud. The smile seemed, however, plastered on her face and her eyes couldn't be torn away from his image. So when he looked up to find her gaze, he read her expression like the letters of the book in his hands and returned her smile. He didn't need to own the intelligence that he owned, but he did and still, he understood.

---

Thursday.

22.52

Birdie the dog sat down next to her as Abby halted in front of a large, dark wooden front door of the apartment complex. The German shepherd panted still slightly after running around the park with Abby for half an hour. She had parked her car a couple of blocks away and walked her dog while she headed towards her destination. She almost wouldn't have come, but the restlessness and the aching lust started to hurt and she knew she had to. Several times, she had stopped in the park that bordered his house, hesitating to take the next steps in his direction. From behind a tree, she had smoked a cigarette and watched his apartment for ten minutes. Around that time, Bird sat down in front of her and stared at her with a look in his eyes that basically said 'Either you go in or you go home. But make a choice. Now.'. Abby had sighed at the dog and growled softly at him when she pressed on of the buttons.

A young woman had answered the call and Abby explained that she forget her keys. Amazing how easily she got in, what if she was a serial killer? She shook the thought from her head, she was off-duty, tomorrow they all had a day off. No serial killer thinking, no puzzles to solve, no night train to catch or dodge. Peace. She needed peace in her head, calm and soothingly. She wondered that if that was what she was looking for, why was she standing on the doorstep of a man that made her head spin with a simple touch or smile and caused a havoc inside her mind? A lot of time to think she didn't have, the bolt on the door was removed and the door itself unlocked before being opened.

She stood in the stairwell, this time no gloves or hat or thick, warm coat, leaning against the wall with her arm, her head cocked to the side that, unaware, made her look extremely seductive, a dog at her feet that curiously smelled new scents and heard a new world.

During the short drive, she had ruminated, cogitate about how he would react. Would he not understand? Would he send her away? Would he ask her to leave? Would he invite her in, drink a beer and then ask her to leave? Would he not even open the door after looking through the peep-hole? There were so many options, Abby thought she went crazy and had lit another cigarette in her car, despite being very close to where she wanted to be. Needed, to be.

She was a 'worst-case-scenario' thinker. She always assumed the worst so the outcome would eventually be not that bad. If you expect something morbid, you don't mind it's horrible. But this, this she hadn't seen coming. Or, perhaps she had, but her mind had shut it out, casted it away, put it away in her very own Pandora's box. She was a pessimist. She couldn't help it. Yet the second the handsome, suave and sexy agent Derek Morgan opened the door for her, his eyes flashing with desire, his smile weak but genuine, she could practically feel his hands itch.

"Bird, meet agent Derek Morgan. Morgan, Bird."

The tall agent looked down when Abby's eyes went towards her dog as she introduced them. "Well, hello Bird. Nice to meet you." Morgan squatted down and petted the dog, caressing his head. A black Labrador barked and enthusiastically and appeared in the doorway next to his owner, his tail going from left to right. The dog sniffled at the shepherd curiously.

"You lost the best."

She saw him biting down his lower lip as he stopped moving. Then, he raised himself to her level and leant against the door frame, closing the distance between him and the woman.

"So, what is the payment?"

Without a word or needing an invitation, she brushed past him, entering one of the four properties he owned. Bird happily followed and the black Lab she assumed was Clooney, darted around him. The last thing she remembered registering in her mind was the sound of the closing door and the firm hand that spun her around to meet his hungry lips.

They kissed as if their lives depended on it. White-hot, heated, passionate and fire-y kisses were devoured as hands fought to touch pallid or dark skin, one cool and soft, the other burning and smooth as water. They stumbled a few paces into the apartment after Morgan turned to shuffle backwards and lead the way. They were so fierce and precarious that they fell down on the floor, Abby on top this time, neither of them actually noting the impact on the cool, dark grey floor. His hands cupped her face, his lips never losing contact with hers or her skin as she had gotten rid of the necessarily clothes. She arched her back when the shivers rolled down her back and she remembered the mind-blowing, craving feeling. His heartbeat pounding against her chest, like last time. Their breathing was fast and rapid, like last time. Their lips burning with passion, like last time. Their hands covered skin and made the other crawl in sensation, like last time.

Only, it was better. They were less rushed and after the first flood of satisfaction, they made their way, still kissing, towards his bedroom, turning off the lights in the process, leaving the two dogs behind to entertain themselves. They had a deep-buried, heart throbbing ache to get rid of, gasps of air to be needed, moans in need to be heard and answered and sexual arousal to satisfy.

This man, this deep, dark, drop dead gorgeous, deity man, this God, he was good. Oh, he was so good.

---

"_I tell you everything that is really nothing, and nothing of what is everything, do not be fooled by what I am saying. Please listen carefully and try to hear what I am not saying."_

Charles C. Finn


End file.
